After they said their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson, who gave the pair the strangest look, they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Moira glanced around, then looked up at Sherlock expectantly. "So? Where exactly are we headed, anyways?"

The man sighed. "Take me to your house. There could be evidence, or clues, there."

Moira hesitated, then nodded. "Alright then. This way." She grabbed Sherlock's hand and began to pull him along. The only thing that stopped him from yanking his arm away immediately was the fact that it would be so easy to lose sight of the small girl on the crowded streets of London.

They walked for a few minutes, and Sherlock made sure to carefully note which way they were going, and what turns they were taking. It was always good to be cautious, especially when he was in the rare situation that left him with no idea what was going on.

As they continued along all of the most crowded streets, Sherlock realized that Moira probably didn't trust him all that much either. If her story was true, and he was pretty sure that it was, then he was just a random stranger that her parents had been on their way to see after receiving blackmail. That didn't exactly paint him in the greatest light, even if they had said that they were just going to him for help.

It was about twenty minutes later that they stopped in front of a rather skinny house. It looked like it had been shoved in between the other two buildings last minute just to fill the extra space, rather than being built with the intended purpose of being an actual home.

Moira went up the steps to the front door, and finally let go of Sherlock's hand, so that she could root around in her pocket for a key, which she pulled out and used to unlock the door. It swung open, and she beckoned for the detective to follow her inside. As soon as he stepped in, Sherlock took in everything, in the way that he always did.

Moira glanced at him. "I think I'm going to go upstairs to change. Is there anything specific that you wanted to look at, or are you just going to investigate everything?"

Sherlock sighed. "I'll just look at everything, so you can go get cleaned up."

Moira rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the permission." She went up the stairs, and Sherlock heard the sound of a door opening and closing. He walked forward, staying on the first floor for now, and found himself in a quaint little den. The place wasn't much bigger than it had looked from the outside.

There was a tv on one wall, with a couch facing it. A small coffee table with random magazines and letters, that all appeared to be bills. Sherlock paused for a moment when he heard the sound of the shower running upstairs, but then went back to his searching. It wasn't unusual for a girl covered in blood to want to scrub it all off. He wasn't sure what exactly he was looking for, and he wasn't sure that he would recognize it even if he found it.

There was a small shelf that went around all the walls of the room, and it was lined completely with pictures. The ones by the hall door were of a wedding, and newly married life. The pictures going around the room showed an entire story, really. There was one with a baby being born, and more snapshots from her life as she grew up, until she was old enough in the photos to be recognizable as the girl that he had met today. The pictures showed her growing up more, until finally there was one of her sitting at a picnic table, eating ice cream, laughing, and looking the same age that she was now. There were no more pictures following it, but there was plenty of space to put more in the future.

Once he had seen all of the pictures, Sherlock went through the door that was opposite the one he had come in through, and he found himself in the kitchen. There was a small pile of mail, and the date declared that they had just been brought home today.

Before Sherlock could look around some more, there was a knock on the front door. The shower upstairs stopped, and the knocking became the only noise reverberating through the small house. There was a few more knocks, and then the door, which was still unlocked apparently, was opened. There was a soft grunt of surprise, but it didn't sound like the intruder had actually entered the house yet.

From where he was in the kitchen, the intruder wouldn't be able to spot Sherlock. He ducked behind the counter anyways, and hoped that Moira would have the good sense to find a place to hide upstairs. The intruder spoke loudly. "This is Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Scotland Yard! Is anybody home?"

There was a stretch of silence, and then the sound of a door upstairs opening and slamming shut, and the sound of bare feet pattering across hardwood flooring. Sherlock stood up, so it wouldn't look like he was hiding, but moved closer to the door so he could see what was going on.

Moira was standing at the foot of the stairs in shorts and a tank top, and her hair was still soaking wet. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the police officer in front of her. "Um... "

Lestrade frowned. "Do you often just leave your front door unlocked like that? What if someone bad wanted to get in?"

Moira raised one eyebrow. "Um… if someone bad wanted to come in, I really doubt that they would even bother with the front door. Way too many people outside that would be able to spot them. They'd probably go around back and climb in a window or something, so whether or not the front door is locked doesn't make a difference."

Lestrade narrowed his eyebrows. "And you are…?"

"Moira Anders. I live here. But why are you here?"

The D.I. got a sad look on his face. "Are your parents around?"

Moira shook her head apologetically. "No, sorry, they're out. Why? Is something wrong?" She sounded so tense, like she actually had no idea that anything bad had happened, and Sherlock silently commended her acting abilities.

Lestrade had that look, like the one he had when he had to deliver the bad news to a family that someone they loved was dead. Moira, even though she had never seen that look before, was probably smart enough to figure out what it meant. But who could have died? Moira wasn't being arrested, so she hadn't been implicated in the murder of that dead couple. And Lestrade had asked for her parents, so they hadn't been found dead either. Then who?

The policeman shook his head sadly. "I really need to talk to your parents. Do you know when they'll be home?"

Moira shook her head. "No, sorry."

Lestrade turned to leave. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll come back later."

Moira reached out and grabbed his arm. She looked scared. "Wait, what happened?"

Lestrade hesitated, but then shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I just need to talk to your parents. Please tell them to call this number once they're home." He handed Moira a card, and she accepted it mutely. Lestrade left, and Moira shut the door behind him. She turned to where Sherlock was standing, and the scared worried look was gone. It had just been an act. Sherlock wondered if there was anything else about Moira that was just an act.