Yes, I know it's been a year. Yes, I know I left this fic on a bad note, but trust me. Okay? A little trust would be nice.

To the people who are still reading this, bless you. You're all so fucking awesome, I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me that you guys still read this. To the guest who reviewed the last chapter, yeah, she probably should have known better, but she's still a teenager. She's gonna make mistakes like the rest of us. She might be Sherlock Holmes' daughter, but she's not as odd. I wanted to make her relatable. I wanted you guys to feel for her, which is exactly what you did, so I have accomplished what I wanted to. But I also wanted to apologize, to anyone who might have been affected by the last chapter. I should have done a trigger warning, and I sincerely apologize for that. It won't happen again.

The Reichenbach Fall was the most emotionally crippling episode of the first three seasons, maybe even of the the series if the show doesn't do anything that insane again. I found myself to be totally freaking out for a solid six weeks after I watched it. I loved the insane theories, the predictions, everything the fans did afterward was amazing. But seeing this from Charlie's eyes is going to be, hopefully, just as great as some of those theories. If you guys could tell me what you thought, that'd be great. I'd love to hear some feedback.

Please enjoy this chapter. It's been a year in the making. I loved writing the second season, so please enjoy this finale...for now... :)

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Damn you, Moffat.

I managed to sneak into Uncle's office, without even Anthea noticing. I opened the door, and he thought I was Anthea, bringing him his paper. I had his paper, but...I wasn't Anthea.

He turned in his chair slowly, got a look over. I was a wreck. I was even skinnier than normal, my hair was disheveled, my clothes sagged, and I knew I had dark circles under my eyes. I had to know what happened, or it was going to be the end of me.

"Charlotte. What are you doing here?" I leaned forward on his desk, looking him dead in the eyes.

"You're going to tell me what happened to Dad. You're going to tell me he's not-" I cut myself off, swallowing back the bile that rose in my throat. "You're going to tell me that my father is not...dead." His eyes grew pitying. I grabbed him by his jacket, ready to punch him. "Don't tell me he's actually dead, because if he were dead, he would have left something. He left nothing, he's alive, now tell me how he did it, and where he is, Uncle. Now."

"'Fall of the Reichenbach,' Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered, owing to the prodigious talent of Mister Sherlock Holmes." There was a small round of applause, and the curator came forward, handing something to Dad. "A small token of our gratitude." Dad accepted the little gift box, and it rattled. Diamond cufflinks.

"All my cufflinks have buttons." I shot Dad a look, and smiled at the curator politely.

"He meant thank you. Besides, these will go with the jacket I got him for Christmas. Right, Dad?" He turned to glance at me, and I smiled, still giving him the warning look.

"Right. Thank you." He turned back, shaking the man's hand, and smiled politely. He went to walk away, but John stopped him, so the paparazzi could take a picture. Dad was still pissed when we got into the cab.

I stood in the back, as far from Donovan and Anderson as I could be, and watched as Dad opened up the package. A deer stalker. Oh dear God.

The crowd yelled at Dad to put it on, and he did. He looked as if he wanted to shoot himself, right there. I clenched my hand, digging my nails in my palm, stopping myself from laughing. If I laughed, Dad would be angry. And I really didn't want to make him any angrier.

"'Boffin Sherlock Holmes.'" Dad slammed the paper down on the coffee table, in front of me.

"Everyone gets one, Dad, just accept it. I've gotten one as well." Dad frowned, turning to me, and I held up the paper for him to see. "'The Boffin's Daughter.'" Dad smiled suddenly, and I grinned back at him. "John has one as well. 'The Bachelor John Watson.'" I chuckled slightly at that one. "At least mine's not completely ridiculous. I am your daughter."

"Bachelor? What the hell are they implying?" John asked, and snatched the paper from me, getting a look.

"What kind of a hat is this, anyway?" I looked up at Dad, and sat back into the cushions.

"A deer stalker. The flaps are to cover your ears." I frowned, as I got a look at the other papers. Dad was everywhere, and so was John; they needed to start being careful. "I hate to say this, but...I think Uncle was right." Dad's eyes went wide, and he turned to me, with such an anger I had never seen before. "You two are everywhere, and I'm starting to show up, too. You're not a private detective anymore, Dad, you two aren't far from being considered famous." Dad sat down in his chair, across from John, and I looked to John. He shrugged. I turned back to Dad. "Dad."

"It bothers you, Charlotte. What people say about me."

"Of course it does. Don't be ridiculous, you're my father, of course it does." He stared at me, with a frown on his face, like he didn't understand how fiercely defensive I could be for him. How at school, whenever someone would attempt to make fun of him, I'd end up punching them across the jaw and being sent to the office. If there was any way to keep Dad from being ridiculed, I would do it. No matter what. "Just try to keep a low profile, yeah? Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news." Dad nodded. I checked my watch, and picked up my bag. "See you later." John handed me my phone, and I took it, picking up my coat along the way.

"Have a good day." John called, as I walked down the stairs.

Little did I know that when I got home, my world would go tumbling down.

Dad's phone went off again, and I picked it up, from my position in his chair. My eyes went wide, when I got a look. "Dad."

"Not now, Charlotte."

"Dad."

"I said not now, Charlotte, are you deaf?" I got up, shoving the phone in his face, my heart racing at the mere sight of that name. "What?"

"He's back." Dad looked back at me finally, and I held the phone out further. He snatched it from me, and stood up. John got up, and went to his room to get dressed. "Does that mean he'll-"

"I don't know." I paused, before nodding, clearing my throat. I went to go to my room.

"I'll go and get my coat-"

"No." I turned back to Dad, frowning. He grabbed my shoulders, looking at me like he was going to look at Moriarty, if he ever got the chance; like he was going to kill someone. "Stay here." I hesitated, but nodded. "Would you-" I nodded again, taking care of his microscope first. "Thank you."

I said no more big cases, but this was different. Moriarty had to be stopped. And if that mean Dad would be in the papers, then so be it.

Moriarty's face was plastered over every newspaper. Dad was getting more media attention than ever, I had to have Lestrade escort me to school so I would be left alone. I didn't like it, but if Moriarty was to be stopped, sacrifices had to be made.

I tugged at my skirt, and adjusted my blouse, before I came back into the lounge. John was just buttoning up his jacket, and I threw the tie around Dad's neck, despite the look he shot me.

"I don't wear ties."

"Today you do. Good for the press." I looked up at Dad, and turned back to the tie, fixing it for him.

"How do you know-"

"Alex has trouble with his uniform, and Dani insisted that she teach me, because she thinks ties are interesting." Dad frowned, and I shrugged, taking a step back to get a look. He looked weird with a tie, but he needed to look decent. "John, did I pick out the wrong one?" John got a look, but smiled, shaking his head.

"No, Charlie, it's fine. Ready?" I nodded, and Dad led the way to the stairs. I followed right behind, but Dad stopped, right before the door. He looked at me with concern; he didn't want me going, but John insisted that I do. Thought it would be good press.

"Are you sure you don't-"

"She's coming, Sherlock. Let's go." John pushed open the door, and Dad let me go before him. Police men were ushering the paparazzi away. I was shoved in the middle, in the backseat of a police car taking us to the court house.

"Now, remember-" Dad cut John off, and I sighed.

"Dad, you can't be smart, you have to be proper. I don't want Uncle throwing a fit-"

"What Mycroft thinks of me means nothing, Charlotte-"

"And I don't want kids talking about you in school." Dad frowned, turning to me, as well as John. I stared straight ahead. "They speak about you enough as it is. I'm sick of hearing it."

"Of course." Dad took my hand, squeezing it. "Just sit with John. You shouldn't have to speak, but if you do-"

"I'll tell them what I told Lestrade. He had a bomb strapped to me, and a bully beat me to a pulp. I'll tell them everything." I turned to Dad finally, and he smiled at me proudly.

"Right."

"A consulting criminal?" Dad nodded, and I sat upright, forcing myself not to bite my lip.

"Yes." Dad replied simply. He was doing well, very well. I just hoped he wouldn't screw this up.

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?" Dad didn't take a moment to consider, he just went on.

"James Moriarty is for hire." Dad elaborated, and the barrister speaking to him turned to look at Moriarty.

"A tradesman?" She-the barrister-asked.

"Yes." Dad replied.

"But not the sort that'd fix your heating?"

"No, the sort to plant a bomb, or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler." People laughed, and Dad looked to me. I was giving him a look, silently telling him not to go further than that. If he did, he'd be in trouble.

"Would you describe him as-"

"Leading." I gripped my hands tighter. Dad was refusing to act. He wouldn't do it any longer.

"What?" The barrister asked.

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness. He'll object, and the judge will uphold." I gripped my hands even tighter, digging my nails into my knuckles.

"Mister Holmes-" Dad cut the judge off, continuing.

"Ask me how I would describe him, what opinion have I formed of him. They don't teach you this?"

"Mister Holmes, we're fine without your help." The judge shot back, and I knew Dad was rolling his eyes. John looked up, when he heard someone sneak into the row behind us. He glanced at me, and saw what I was doing to my hands, prying one away.

"How would you describe this man, his character?" The barrister corrected herself.

"First mistake, James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider. A spider at the center of a web. Criminal web, with a thousand threads, and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances." The barrister paused, clearing her throat. Dad was looking right at Moriarty.

"And how long-"

"No, no, don't-don't do that. That's really not a good question." The court was getting tired of his actions. Dad saw it, and he was going to lose them if he kept at it.

"Mister Holmes!" The judge argued, so Dad answered the question.

"How long have I known him? Not really the best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up, as well as my daughter. I felt we had a special something." I sighed, and tried to clench my hands again, but John stopped me.

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert after knowing the accused for just five minutes?" The judge was getting pissed. Dad was going to make him furious.

"Two minutes would have made me an expert, five was ampel."

"Mister Holmes, that's a matter for the jury!"

"Oh, really?" I sighed, and I went to get up to leave, but John made me sit back down. I turned to ask him why, but John shook his head, as if saying 'not now.' I rolled my eyes, and sat back, crossing my arms. "One librarian, two teachers, two high-pressure jobs, probably the city. Foreman's a medical secretary trained abroad, judging by her shorthand."

"Mister Holmes!" The woman looked at him in shock, and I knew someone was going to punch him once we left the building. Dad better hope John has a medical kit on him.

"Seven are married, and two are having an affair with each other, it would seem. Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits. Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

"Mister Holmes! You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess! Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt! Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?!"

No. He really couldn't.

We got Dad out a while later. He had to sign some paperwork, and I leaned against the counter, with my arms crossed. "Dad, you promised me."

"I didn't actually-"

"I know you didn't actually say it, but you did, you gave me your word. I don't know how I'm going to walk into school." John looked at me in pity, and a flash of concern crossed Dad's face, before he was frustrated again.

"I can't just turn it on and off, Charlotte, it's not a tap." I rolled my eyes. "You know that firsthand. Well?" I frowned, turning to him.

"Well what?"

"You were there, up in the gallery from start to finish, you and John." I sighed, and Dad took his things from the officer, headed towards the door.

"Like you said it would be. Sat on his backside, never even stirred." Moriarty's defense didn't move an inch.

"Moriarty's not mounting a defense." I didn't need the clarification, but yes. Dad was right. Goddamn him.

"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville." John said, as he ascended the stairs right behind Dad. I was ahead of Dad, and took off my shoes as soon as I got up the stairs. They were a right pain, those shoes. I hated them. I hated dress shoes, I hated wearing a skirt, and a nice blouse, and I just hated dressing formally. "Three of the most secure places in the country, and six weeks ago, Moriarty breaks in. No one knows how or why." John sat down in his chair, and I put the kettle on, taking out some cups.

"All we know is that Moriarty was taken into custody." I glanced up at Dad, and John was going to confront him about it this time. I was tired.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The look."

"The look?"

"You're doing the look again, Dad, John hates it. Says you act like everyone in the room knows what's going on, but really, John has no clue. I, of course, know. Tea?"

"Yes, please." John called, and Dad continued to give me his normal look; he was annoyed with me, but when wasn't he?

"If Moriarty wanted the jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners freed, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there. Somehow, this is part of his scheme." Dad explained to John, and I put my hair down from it's tight bun. "They're going to have you speak tomorrow, Charlotte." I froze. I'd have to explain what happened before the pool in front of Dad this time. I wouldn't be able to get away with it like I did today.

"I know. I'll be fine." The kettle went off, and I poured the water, shoving the cups into John's and Dad's hands. "I'm off to bed. Goodnight."

"Charlie, it's only eight-" I shut my door before I could hear anything else.

I didn't want to say what happened in front of Dad. I didn't want to have to explain, but I had no choice. Moriarty had to go away, because I wanted to never see his face again. Oh, bloody hell.

"Miss Holmes?" I blinked, staring as Miss Sorrel, who was frowning at me.

"Sorry, what?"

"Have you known the accused long?" I shook my head. "How long have you known him?"

"I knew him for...fifteen minutes, maybe. I wasn't counting the first time." Unlike Dad, the court seemed to like me. I didn't put up as much of a fight. But then I remembered Dad was there, and I refused to look up. I stared at Miss Sorrel, because I didn't want to see the look on my father's face.

"And you told the police that he hired someone to assault you?"

"No, he never hired that boy. He didn't need hiring." I dug my nails into my knuckles again. Dad and John weren't there to stop me.

"This...Terrance Slaterton, he was willing?" I nodded slowly, swallowing back the lump in my throat, at the mention of Terry. I still couldn't forget the crazy look in his eyes. Or the night of the party. The gentleness.

"He'd been stalking me. I'd rejected him, he got angry, and when Moriarty came along, Terry took his...opportunity." Moriarty wouldn't stop smirking at me. He was enjoying this, watching me recount these events. I wanted to knock that smirk right off of his face. Maybe even break his face.

"And then the accused kidnapped you."

"Strapped a bomb to my chest as well." Miss Sorrel nodded. "Is that all you needed?"

"Yes. That's all. Thank you, Miss Holmes." I smiled, and nodded, stepping down, and strided out of the courtroom.

I sat outside, and waited. John came out of the courtroom, when the verdict was called, but Dad didn't. I stood up, frowning, as well as John.

"Where's Dad?"

"I thought he was with you?" I sighed, and groaned, taking out my phone. "Where is he?"

"What was the verdict?"

"Not guilty." I nodded, and hit his speed dial, walking out the doors. "Charlie, what are you-" I shushed John, and Dad picked up on the first ring.

"I assume you're home."

"What was the verdict?" I rolled my eyes.

"Not guilty. Moriarty's walking free." Dad hung up as soon as I said that, and I paused, stopping. I waited for John to catch up.

"Well?"

"He's going to pay Dad a visit. We have to stay away." John frowned at me, so I just kept going. "Tube, then?"

"I guess." I giggled. I loved frustrating John; it was too much fun.

"Sherlock, there's something weird-" John stopped that sentence when he got a look at who was there. Donovan, and Lestrade. "What's going on?"

"Kidnapping." Dad replied, taking a seat across from me, as Lestrade elaborated.

"Rufus Brule, the ambassador to the U.S."

"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John asked, looking between Donovan and Lestrade.

"No, not him, his children. Max and Claudette, aged seven and nine. They're at Subordates."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey." Donovan explained, holding up the file, to show John what the kids look like.

"School broke up, all the other boarders went home. Just a few kids remained, including those two." Lestrade said, and I held up a hand. He passed me the file.

"The kids have vanished." Donovan stated the obvious, as always.

"The ambassador's asked for you personally." Lestrade, as well, decided to state the obvious. Dad got up, going to grab his coat, I suspected.

"The 'Reichenbach' hero." I smirked. Donovan was still annoyed. Good. I got up, grabbing my coat as well, and followed Dad out the door.

As soon as Dad got to the Headmistress, he started screaming at her, and only because he wanted her to talk fast.

Dad never liked cases with children. Maybe because of me, maybe because they were children, I was never sure. I just knew that he went about a case with children unlike any other. He didn't snap back as irritably as he normally did, he was kind, he was just a totally different person. He was the person that I saw on a normal basis.

The traces of asphalt, brick dust, chocolate, it all led to the children. I remembered the fairy tales vividly, Dad gave me the original stories as a child. They terrified me enough to get me to shut up, when he was working a case. Still wasn't sure why he was so gentle with child cases.

I found the kids, huddled in a makeshift bed. The girl was watching over her brother; he'd eaten too much of the candy, laced with mercury. I smiled gently, and knelt down to their heights, holding up my hands. "It's alright. You're safe now, come on." I turned, calling to the adults. "OVER HERE!" I turned back to the girl. The boy was unconscious, going to have to be put into intensive care. "You're safe now. It's all right, don't worry."

I wish I could have believed my own words, but when that little girl started screaming at Dad, I knew something was wrong. IOU; it was spray painted in red, on the windows in the building across from Lestrade's office at the Yard. I'd come home from Moriarty's court case to find that apple, with IOU carved into it, and Dad had been muttering it in the lab, when he was figuring out the child case.

Something was going on. Moriarty was doing something, but what?

John grabbed a cab, and Dad claimed it, saying that we might talk. I looked him in the eyes, and he knew I wanted to help, but he wasn't going to let me. Not this time. "Go with John, Charlotte." He'd said, and off he went.

John turned to me, but I shook my head, not even having to hear him say it. He wanted to know what was wrong, but frankly, so did I. And I didn't like it.

Our cab went the same way his did, and I stopped the cab, jumping out when I saw Dad, standing next to a man who'd just been shot. He looked as if he'd just seen-

He'd seen Moriarty.

The ambulance came quicker than I'd thought, and John kept saying it was him, and it was. Dad was having a breakdown, and I had no clue what to do. Moriarty had sent assassins to Baker Street, had them living there now, and he'd wanted to get me out, but that would have tipped Moriarty off. And we couldn't have had that.

"He died because I shook his hand. Saved my life, but he couldn't touch me, why?"

"Because Moriarty ordered him not to." Dad shot me a look. We both knew there was more to it than that, but I wanted to say something, or the next time I opened my mouth, I'd scream.

We headed back to Baker street, and Dad got to work. The assassins were ordered to keep him alive. "I've got something all of them want." He'd said, and that had to be the only explanation. "Then one of them approaches me..." He was waiting for me to finish his sentence. I stood in the doorway, refusing to move, and John went to the window. Dad looked up, frowning at me. My hands were shaking-I'd dug my nails into my palms so deeply, I was drawing blood, and I didn't even realize it. Dad stood up, when he noticed, grabbing my shoulders. "Charlotte, let go." I realized what Moriarty was doing. I knew what Donovan was thinking, I knew her and Anderson would gang up on Lestrade, and I just wanted to get out of this country before I was taken away. "Charlotte-"

"NO!" I screamed, and tried to push him away, but he grabbed me, holding me to him. I rested my head on his chest, and kept saying it, over and over. I couldn't stop. "They're going to take me away from you. They're going-they're going to arrest you, they think you did it, but you didn't. You'd never do that, why don't they see that?" Dad held my head, resting his chin on it, shushing me.

"Have you dusted recently?" I shook my head. I hadn't dusted in here in a while; he had to find the break in it, find the cameras. "John, find the break, in the dust. Find the camera." John didn't ask questions, God bless him. Dad sat down on the couch, dragging me with him because I wouldn't let go. I'd let go of my palms, but I couldn't let go of Dad. I'd never been away from him, never lived anywhere but with him, I wouldn't leave. I couldn't. No one would know that I wanted to be left alone when I played, no one would know I only watched telly because of Doctor Who, no one would know when I was having a migraine before it even happened. No one would know that when I was sick, I liked to sleep it off, and the only way to get me to take my medicine was to sneak it into my ginger ale. No one knew that I hated ginger ale, but Dad bought it just to make me even more miserable, and keep me off the soda. No one knew that when I couldn't sleep, he sat with me until I did. No one could be Dad. No one. "Charlotte, I'll never let anyone take you away from me, do you understand?" I nodded. "I don't care what people think-"

"But I do. Because they're wrong, and stupid, not you. Well, you can be, but you're not. You're just not." Dad chuckled, and kissed my head, stroking my hair.

"You're right. You're absolutely right, but you need to let it go, Charlotte." I hesitated, but shook my head. "Please. For me." I shook my head again, more firmly. He sighed. "All right. Fine. If you won't, then I have no choice." Dad let go of me, and I frowned, wiping the tears from my face, snivelling.

"What are you going to do?" He stood, taking out his mobile. I frowned further. "Dad, what are you doing?" He didn't say anything. I turned to John, but he was still looking for the camera. I turned back to Dad, and he'd walked into the kitchen. He was making a call-

He was making a call. He was calling Uncle.

"NO!" I stood up as well, but Dad slammed the kitchen doors shut on me, every one of them. Locked himself in. I pounded on the door for a minute, yelling at him, but John stopped me. He grabbed my arm, and I clenched my fists. I backed away, and went into my room, pulling a bag from under my bed, and slammed my cupboard doors open.

He was sending me away. I might as well start packing, but I didn't have to be happy about it. He was getting rid of me, whether I liked it or not.

I heard Mrs. Hudson come up, and then Lestrade, a few moments later. I walked out when Dad was taken away. Lestrade spotted me, and I could see the guilt in his eyes, but he had no choice. Lestrade went down after he spotted me. Donovan turned, as well as John. I crossed my arms.

"Are you happy now?"

"I told you, John. Solving crimes wasn't going to last long." I rolled my eyes, picking my book up off the coffee table, but Donovan stopped me. "This flat is now a crime scene, Charlie, I'd recommend you put that back." I frowned at her. Flipped through the book, showing her all the pages.

"Do you see anything suspicious in here? Because all I see is a story about a Hobbit."

"Tolkein, eh? Not bad, Miss Holmes." I turned, frowning at the large man that had just walked in. He was the head of the police force, I believed. "Mycroft has a car outside. I suggest you take your leave." I hesitated, but picked up my bag, as well as my coat. John grabbed me, though, hugging me. I froze, but hugged him back.

"Be careful, Charlie." I nodded. I wanted to smile, at the concern in his voice. But it was then that I realized I'd been crying.

"You too, John."

I was waiting outside Bart's, for Dani. We always met there, got on the tube, and headed to school together. But something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I didn't know how, I just knew.

I knew, though, when I saw Dad. When I saw the coat, billowing in the wind. My phone started ringing, as he took his own out. I fought back a scream of terror, and dug my phone from my pocket, answering the call.

"Dad, what are you doing! Get down from there!" I really did sound like his mother. But it fit perfectly, because it would be weird if we acted like a normal father and daughter. It wouldn't be real.

"Charlotte, don't move, and listen to me." I bit my lip, gripping my phone tighter. "What they say, it's all true. I'm a sham, Charlotte, I'm a fake." I shook my head determinedly, gripping my phone even tighter; if I held it any tighter, I might've broken it.

"No, you're not-"

"But that's what you're going to say, when they ask you." I shook my head again, digging my nails in my palm.

"No."

"Charlotte-"

"NO! I said NO!" I paused, fighting the impulse to stomp on the ground, like a child. "YOU ARE NOT A FAKE! YOU DIDN'T MAKE ALL THIS UP, YOU TAUGHT ME HOW TO DO WHAT YOU DO, YOU ARE NO FAKE!"

"But that is what you're going to say. To anyone who will listen, you're going to tell them I'm a fake." I let out a breath, holding the phone for a moment, and bit back a sob.

"Why?" My voice had grown small. He was scaring me. I was terrified. I was frozen still, in fear. My voice was breaking. I was going to start crying soon. "Dad, you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, Charlotte. Don't ever be scared. You are my daughter, so you will always be protected. Always." I could picture what his eyes would look like-hard, but warm, and comforting. He would smile, after saying those words. But that wasn't the case.

"I don't care about that, Dad. Don't you get that by now?" It seems he didn't. He'd fallen silent. Sherlock Holmes, speechless; I was the only one who could do that. Besides John, anyway. "I care about you, Dad. Don't do this. Whatever you're about to do, don't. Don't do it, because I don't want to have to think about what I'll do."

"Charlotte." I felt a tear roll down my cheek. "Be careful."

"Dad-" He tossed the phone aside, and the call ended. My eyes went wide. And I screamed. "DAD!" It was too late. He took one step off, and he was flying. He was falling. He was falling, and my legs were carrying me as fast as they could. My heart was pounding, my lungs were burning, and tears were rolling down my face like rain. Doctors, nurses, bystanders, they all surrounded him.

"LET ME THROUGH! LET ME THROUGH, THAT'S MY DAD, LET ME THROUGH!" Someone grabbed my arm, and turned me around, hugging me close. It was John. John was trying to protect me, hide me. He didn't want me to see another dead body; he didn't want me to see Dad's dead body. "LET ME GO! LET ME GO, JOHN, LET ME GO!" I screamed right in his ear, but he still held me. He winced slightly when I did, but he didn't break.

"I'm so sorry, Charlie." I shook my head.

"He's not dead. He-he can't be dead, he can't be, he just-he just can't." John held me tighter, refusing to let me go. To let me see. "Let me see, John, please, because he can't be dead." He let go. I turned, and saw that he was being put onto a gurney: his face was covered in blood. His eyes were wide open. I still couldn't believe it, but his body was right in front of me, his blood was on the pavement. Why couldn't I believe it?

"I'm not staying with her, if that's why you brought me here." Uncle didn't say anything. He stared at Dad's grave, as I did. There was only one thing carved onto it, besides his name. Loving Father. "I'm staying with Gran and Grandad, and I won't hear your argument about how she's changed-"

"I didn't bring you here for that, my dear." I frowned, but I didn't turn to him. "He is dead, Charlotte. You'll have to believe it sooner or later."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because he's my dad. And he was no fake, he was real, Moriarty was real, it was all real. You're never going to convince me otherwise, Uncle. I'm sorry." Uncle paused, and sighed, going back to the car. I looked over my shoulder, checking to make sure he wasn't watching me. He was too busy staring at his mobile, luckily. I turned back to Dad's grave, and crossed my arms.

"Dad, this isn't funny anymore. Stop messing about." When I didn't hear a reply, I felt like my heart was breaking. I clenched my hands, digging my nails into my palms.

"Dad, please, I don't like this game. Come back." Nothing. Not a word, not a text, not a call. It was hopeless...my father was dead. I dropped to my knees in front of his grave, and my eyes squinted as the tears came rushing forward. I started to fight for air, and the image of him falling from Bart's roof was replaying in my head on repeat. I was running to catch him, over, and over again. My heart kept breaking. Piece by piece.

"Daddy, please. Please, please, please. I don't want to play this game anymore!" I'd started to sob, and I heard Uncle's door open up. I mumbled my next words, before he could hear me. "Please, Daddy. Come back."