(A/N: I'm really sorry about not updating Two Little Boys. It'll be up soon, scout's honor.)

Over the next week, the residents of 221B fell into a strange sense of familiarity. John became used to Ginny running around their apartment, talking to herself, sifting through microscope slides and eating all their food.
And Sherlock, try as he might to fight it, seemed to ignore her presence a little less everyday. Tuesday morning, John walked into the living space of the apartment to see Ginny sitting on the window sill, brushing her hair as she listened to Sherlock play the violin. Neither of them were acknowledging each other, but Ginny was absentmindedly bobbing her head with the music, and Sherlock had angled himself ever so slightly towards her. John stood stalk still, not wanting to break the spell.
After the sonata finished Ginny gave three short claps, then starting braiding her hair, asking if they needed to get more iodine. Sherlock snapped back that he wasn't omnipotent and that she was perfectly capable of finding that out for herself.
Everything was fine. Everything was starting to feel like normal, or as normal as life with Sherlock could be.
Which, of course, meant everything was bound to go to hell.
Ginny was eating a grilled cheese on the couch while John paid some bills. Then Sherlock pulled up his music stand, picked up his bow, and started to play once more. This time it was a sad, haunting melody.
Ginny cocked her head, listening.
"Is this Bach?"
"It's an original." Sherlock said, making a note on the music in front of him.
"It's called Irene." John said without thinking, signing the electricity bill. Sherlock shot him a warning glare.
"Who's Irene?" Ginny said. Sherlock didn't answer. She rolled her eyes. "Your girlfriend? It's OK if you have a girlfriend. It's not as if you were ever with my..."
Ginny's face fell as she faded off. She let out a strange, high-pitched groan. She clutched large chunks of her curls and pushed them up her head.
"Oh my God." She said. "Oh my God, what on Earth am I doing?"
She leapt from her seat, pushing past Sherlock, sending his music stand crashing to the floor. She ran into the kitchen and started shoving pots and pans and science equipment away, grabbing her notebook and feverishly flipping through the pages. John and Sherlock exchanged glances and raced in after her.
"Ginny, what's the matter?"
"I'm a terrible daughter is what's the matter!" She said. Her voice was unusually tight and emotional. "My mother has been missing for over a week and I'm sitting here listening to sonatas? I've fallen behind, we need to do work!"
Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"Ginny, why is this so important?"
John and Ginny fell silent. Sherlock squinted and turned to John.
"Not good?" He muttered. Ginny eyes flashed in anger. She skidded across the floor and smacked him across the face.
"Ginny!" John yelled. Sherlock touched his cheek, his expression blank. Ginny blinked hard, seeming to come back into herself. She backed away slowly.
"I'm sorry." She croaked. She turned and ran out the front door, slamming it behind her.
John made to run after her, but Sherlock placed a hand on his chest.
"Let me."
He straightened his suit jacket and strode out of the apartment.
Ginny was sitting on the stairs leading down to Mrs. Hudson's flat. She closed her eyes as Sherlock sat down next to her.
"My mother is the one person I love in this universe." She said shakily. She wouldn't look at him. Sherlock said nothing, gazing at her. There are some thing a deduction just can't explain.
"Ginny, I know this isn't easy for you." He said slowly. Ginny sighed.
"Don't use that voice."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What voice?"
Ginny wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket, turning to look at him.
"Your patronizing-I'm-pretending-to-be-human voice."
Sherlock looked at her, then smirked. Ginny sighed and looked at down at her Converse.
"I'm a psychopath." She said. "It's hard for me to handle other people when I'm upset."
"Understandable, other people are often insufferable idiots." Sherlock said. Then he paused and looked at her. "And you're not a psychopath. You're a sociopath."
Ginny smirked. "A high-functioning one?"
"At least moderately functioning." Sherlock stood, hesitated, and then offered her his hand.

The Detective's Got a Daughter? UPDATE
{Posted at 10:36 AM}
She took it and they walked back in together. It was like something out of a cheesy Lifetime movie. You'd almost expect "You'll Be in My Heart" to play in the background as someone tearfully said "I'll always have a place in my heart for you."
Although, usually those types of movies don't end with a call from Scotland Yard.

Ginny and Sherlock settled back down at the kitchen table and wordlessly passed slides and sheets of notebook paper back and forth.
The phone rang in the next room. John went to answer it, still watching the duo.
"Hullo." He said.
"You better come down here." It was Lestrade. He sounded both confounded and amused. John cocked his head.
"What happened, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Lestrade said. He chuckled incredulously. "John, she was RIGHT."
"Who, Ginny? The kidnapping case?"
John glanced over at her. Ginny seemed considerably calmer. Almost too calm, too quickly. Sherlock glanced at her every few seconds. His eyes were uneasy. John spoke in a whisper.
"Yeah, we're coming. Be there in five."
Ginny and Sherlock were watching him now. Ginny seemed to realize what was happening. She was already running to the door, her face glowing with self-satisfaction. Her eyes held a glint John couldn't name. He hung up and looked at Sherlock. He let out a chuckle of disbelief.
"She's either got good genes or is just naturally clever."
Sherlock still looked a little uncomfortable, but he nodded.
"It's genes, alright." He said, unusually soft. "My genes."