Hypocrisy- Enforcing, methods, beliefs, or virtues etc.; That one does not really posess.

Sherlock turned down the winding corridors of his mind palace, looking for answers. He walked through, passing the many rooms filled with images of science and information. This was the first level of the palace; the rooms plain and logical and easy to access, only containing scientific mater and the information he used every day.

But this case was different, logic and science wasn't what he needed. Clare's appearance wasn't logical or planned, it was completely riddled with sentiment.

As Sherlock walked on, he found the rooms he was unwilling to open, but needed to none the less. This was the deepest level of his palace; no longer logical or simple. The corridors became ever more winding as he passed more and more locked doors and untouched feelings. All of his memories and suppressed emotions lay hidden away in the deepest parts of the palace, only to be used in dire situations. There was something that he was missing, something that was blocking him from finding out the answers. He turned into another hallway. "This has something to do with Mycroft, of that I am sure. But what is it? What is he up to?" Sherlock turned again, facing a door. There was something about the door, some sort of foreboding feeling. It was definitely a memory, something that he had repressed for quite some time.

He studied the surface of the door, checking its label.

Subject: A Mycroft Encounter

Information Level: Classified

Felling: Guilt

"But why did I lead myself here?" Sherlock was becoming frustrated. "What does this have to do with anything?" He began to turn away when, suddenly the hallway became a dead end; words appeared all over the walls of the corridor, May 9th was repeated over and over agian. He turned again, looking at the door. This was the answer, but there was something about this memory, there was a reason he had hidden it away.

He hesitated for a moment, only a moment before he opened the door. He had to know.

He found himself standing in 221B, watching himself and Mycroft. As he looked around, he suddenly remembered what had happened, what had been said, and why he had hidden this memory away. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock watched the scene unfold.

"I don't understand how this is of any concern of yours, Mycroft." Sherlock growled.

Mycroft rubbed his face in irritation. "I am worried about your connection to this John Watson fellow. Sentiment is a very dangerous thing, it slows your mind and causes you to make very stupid decisions. Something you're already prone to doing and I would not like to see it enforced." He stood and began to pace. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. Stop getting too attached, otherwise it will lead you to your ruin." Mycroft sighed. " Put an end to this childish behavior and sever ties before it's too late."

"Honestly, Mycroft, your hypocrisy has risen to alarming rates." Sherlock stood, glaring at his older brother.

He continued. "I must ask you, for once in your pathetic life, to cease your melding." Sherlock ground out the words, his voice slowly becoming louder, anger relishing in each syllable. "Don't you dare lecture me on the merits of emotion when you still wear that ring on your finger. Did you pay attention during your wedding ceremony, brother dear? Do you remember the vows you said? 'Til death do us part, Mycroft. Well, death has happened and you have parted. So I suggest that you get ahold of your sentimental values before you lecture me on mine." Taking a deep breath, Sherlock dealt the final blow. "Anne is dead, Mycroft. So, just because you lost the one thing that made you human, doesn't mean that I deserve to lose mine." Sherlock looked up, glaring in to Mycroft's eyes.

"You're a coward, Mycroft. You're just a selfish coward."

Mycroft looked down, fiddling with the ring on his finger. He simply said, "Quite right, Sherlock; quite right."

The door to the memory shut, leaving Sherlock pondering in the hallway.

"So Clare has something to do with Mycroft's sentiment, and Anne's death….But what?" He turned again when a small photo slid from under the door. Picking it up, carefully, Sherlock found the answer he had been looking for.

A photo of Anne holding a small baby girl, with the words 'Congratulations! You're an uncle!'

Sherlock smiled, he should have seen it before. The detective shook his head and exited his mind palace, walking into the living room, off to deduce his niece now that he knew the full truth.

It was strange, looking at his nieces' sleeping form. She looked so much like her mother, with her doe eyes, blonde hair and sweet face. But there was that Holmesian air about her, a silent understanding of the world and how it worked. However, she saw the world through a different light compared to her uncle and father, one without science and equations but expressed with feeling; conducting a phylsiophical approach to the problems of life. Sherlock could see it in her, every word she spoke was carefully crafted, with a hidden meaning; even her thoughts seemed to be constructed like poetry. So, unlike her father or uncle, she would approach the world with understanding and compassion, along with wisdom beyond her years, something neither of the Holmes brothers could quite capture.

Sherlock smiled. Maybe there was a chance for his brother after all.

/

Delicious smells travelled from the kitchen; infecting the whole apartment, giving a whole new reason for the men of 221B to rise out of bed. Simultaneously, stretching and yawning, they left their rooms and padded their way towards the kitchen.

John smiled, warmly at the sight before him. Having Clare in the apartment, even though it was only for a short time, had given a new light to his and Sherlock's lives.

With a job like his, it was easy to forget just how good the world can be. Sometimes the Doctor would wonder how the world kept turning, how the world could sustain such a vile, heartless race of beings. After seeing so much death, so much cruelty and destruction, sometimes John would wonder; how much can the world take before all of this becomes too much to bear? How can the world go back after so much bad happened? Sometimes it was almost enough to give up the fight.

There were always those moments John's life, when he would forget about the good in the world, and lose his faith in humanity. But then a tiny random act of kindness would give him hope. He would remember that world always did seem to keep turning, and the light always managed to keep the dark at bay. And the Doctor would remember that there was good in the world, and it was worth fighting for.

For some reason, Clare gave him hope again.

"What's all this?" John said.

Clare handed the men their plates. "I wanted to properly thank you for letting me stay here."

Sherlock grunted, still groggy from his early rising. "Did you touch my experiments?"

John shot him a disapproving look. "Honestly, Sherlock…"

Clare held up her hand. "I was careful not to touch anything, Sherlock." She curled up in a chair, tea mug in hand. "Sorry I couldn't cook up something better, you didn't have much." She paused, sipping her tea. "Honestly, do you two live off of take out?"

Sherlock sniffed. "Yes, yes we do."

Rolling his eyes, John dug into his meal, realizing that he and Sherlock had probably forgotten what a home-cooked meal tasted like.

It tasted like heaven.

Clare tapped on her tea mug, eagerly awaiting their verdicts. "Well," She said. "What do you think?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Perfectly adequate."

John rolled his eyes. "What he meant to say was, It's amazing, Clare. Thank you."

"No I didn't." Sherlock replied in a confused tone.

John glared at him. "You better well have."

Just before things got too heated, Mrs. Hudson entered the room.

"Boys, there's men at the door. They say that they are here to collect Clare?" She turned, noticing the small blonde girl at the breakfast table. "Is that you, dear?" Mrs. Hudson smiled, warmly.

Clare nodded. "That's me."

"Ah, that'll be Mycroft." Sherlock thought.

John was shocked. He'd forgotten all about Mycroft. Shaking his head, he offered to help Clare with her bags.

Clare thanked The Doctor and turned to face Sherlock. "I'm sure I'll be seeing both of you sometime soon." She sighed. "But I think that this is goodbye for now."

Handing John the last of Clare's bags, Sherlock turned toward Clare and stuck out his hand, meeting her eyes he smiled, comfortable with the revelation that she was his niece. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Clare O'Conner."

Taking his hand, Clare shook it and smiled, replying. "Dido."

John and Sherlock led Clare to the car, setting down her luggage and allowing the driver to pack it away in the back of the limo.

"If you ever need anything don't hesitate to call me or Sherlock." John said, handing the girl their numbers.

"Thank you, John." Clare said, shaking The Doctors' hand. "It's been fun."

With one last smile and a little wave, Clare hopped into the car, riding away to meet her father.

John looked to Sherlock. "Have you figured it out? Who is she? What's she doing here?" He asked, desperate for an answer.

"Clare is my long lost niece, or so it would seem from my deductions. She has come to England to be reunited with Mycroft." Sherlock smiled at his dumbfounded friend.

"Wait...I don-"

Sherlock cut him off. "I'll explain the details in good time."

John shook his head, asking the one question he deemed to be important. "Do you think he'll take care of her?"

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. "Oh no. I think she'll take care of him."

Looking at his phone The Consulting Detective typed a message.

Be brave, Mycroft.

SH

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