Chapter Seven

Christmas had somehow rolled round again, this time last year Irene Adler had been in Sherlock's life this Christmas he had an eighteen year old daughter living in his flat. He looked out of the window at the slushy snow that was falling down a real british Christmas Eve, as usual John had insisted they had everyone round for drinks, Molly, Lestrade and whoever John was currently with. Was it Sarah again. Sherlock couldn't be bothered to work it out, something was niggling at the back of his mind and he didn't like not knowing what was wrong.

"Sherlock put some clothes on" John said. Sherlock turned round.

"I am wearing clothes"

"Proper clothes and don't sulk you're worse than Kate" he winked at his friend who gave a dramatic sigh and went off to his room to change into his usual suit trousers and picked out a dark purple shirt. Kate had the heating turned up full volume in the flat so he rolled the sleeves up. The doorbell went.

"Lestrade" Sherlock called out to John as he heard him leave to answer it. He closed his bedroom door, locking it. He was sure someone was going in there when he was out, things weren't in their proper place. He sat himself down on the sofa thinking of ways he could make the time go by faster, parties were so tedious and normal. Lestrade entered, Sherlock gave him a quick flick over with his eyes. Bottle of wine in hand, not cheap. New shirt from a new girlfriend, he doesn't like it but is wearing it anyway even though the girlfriend is nowhere to be seen, must be serious. Sherlock smirked, how readable people were, like an open book with notes written down the sides with handy hints.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock" Greg said, cracking open the wine as soon as John was back in the room.

"Merry Christmas Greg". John took the glass from Lestrade.

"Oh ignore scrooge in the corner" he joked. Mrs Hudson came up and joined them a little while later and Sherlock himself went and answered the door to both Molly and Johns girlfriend. Who was new and he didn't like one bit far to clingy and she had clearly bought John a sweater for Christmas and Sherlock knew that John did not need anymore sweaters. Sherlock scanned the room. The people he counted as acquaintances and John. His dear friend John. Then he realised she was missing. John studied his friend searching the faces of the people in the room.

"She'll be here in five, she just texted" he told his friend, who just nodded and went back to staring moodily out of the window. They all knew of course about her. None of them having asked directly but they all knew each of them secretly surprised that Sherlock had created something. He had been as well. The first time he had set eyes on her. Her quick tongue, the way that she just knew just what you were going to say and that little smile. That little smile that was so like her mothers that she had given him at the summerhouse. Mother had screamed at him for an hour and he had smashed her favourite vase in reply before storming out of the house and seeking refugee in the summer house. His little haven where it was him and the drugs. Mariella had caught him finishing up a line of coke, the little smile as she slipped through the door; he had been so high that he'd let her do a line and the rest was well history. He had felt human those few hours, not dethatched from everything else. Two days later Mariella was gone.

The living room door opened.

"Sorry I'm late" Kate said, to the group of people who had all turned round to stare at the late comer. Sherlock was the last to look still slightly lost in his memories. She was wearing her signature black jeans, with a white silk shirt. Her oversized black blazer thrown over the top. He looked at her face more closely than normal, the smile was different. The bitten lips pulled into a tighter smile than normal. He focused on her eyes, encircled with her usual black eyeliner but tired looking, slightly bloodshot.

"I'll just put this all in my room" she told John indicating the bags she was carrying before running off. Sherlock's attention immediately flicked to the guests. Lestrade had his mouth open slightly. Sherlock smirked, if Lestrade thought he had a hope in hell with his daughter he had another think coming.

"Greg, stop catching flies" Lestrade gulped and sipped at his third glass of wine. Sherlock's attention moved to Molly. She had a smile on her face, she thought they were alike. He scowled, at this thought. John's new girlfriend had no opinion on Kate apart from the fact that she thought probably something along the lines of how was she so well dressed at the age of eighteen. He could tell this by the way her fingers were gently adjusting every bit of her outfit and she wasn't listening to a word John was saying. Kate re-entered minutes later having changed her top, to one which Sherlock hadn't seen before. It was strapless and tight or at least it should have been, it hung slightly off her. Kate grabbed a hair tie off her wrist and quickly swept her hair off her face into a bun. Sherlock thought she looked like one of those models just coming off a photo shoot, her blue eyes shining out from behind the black eyeliner rims. She turned to pick up her white jumper that was hanging off the back of a chair and only Sherlock heard Molly take an intake of breath. His attention jumped from her back to Kate was now settling herself into the armchair and introducing herself to Lestrade. What had Molly seen, he scowled again.

"Come one scrooge, have a drink" John said handing his friend a glass of wine. Sherlock took it. What he really wanted was a cigarette but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. He tried to figure out what Molly had seen the whole of the party. He lay on the couch after everyone had left. Leaving John and Kate to collect up the bottles of wine that were scattered everywhere.

"You okay?" john asked.

"Yes please" was Sherlock's reply.

"What?"

"I said yes please to tea, are you deaf John" Sherlock's eyes didn't even blink. John sighed and moved to the kitchen, grabbing three cups from the side board. Kate had settled herself in the armchair, curled up like a cat. Her laptop on her lap, tip tapping away. Sherlock found the click clack of the keys quite comforting as he delved through evidence in his mind. The hours ticked by as Christmas morning crept up on number 221b. Sherlock checked his watch at 3am. The click clacking had stopped about an hour ago. An old bond film was flickering on the television. John had gone to bed, Sherlock glanced around the room she was asleep, her legs swung over the arm of the chair a peaceful smile on her face. Very slowly he eased himself from his place on the sofa and stepped over to where she slept. He crouched down beside where she slept and carefully pulled her arm away letting it hang over the edge of the char, she stirred slightly. He pulled the sweater up her arm examining it for marks. Nothing. He looked closer at her face, her make slightly worn from the day. The dark circles under her eyes were concealed slightly but still prominent; his eyes followed the cheekbones down to her mouth. She was nervous about something they were bitten and chapped. What had Molly seen. If only she was a corpse on a slab he could scrutinize, move and examine her; what was she hiding that Molly had seen and he couldn't. A tattoo? He shook his own head at his stupidity. Very carefully he slowly lifted the corner or her jumper.

"Sherlock what the hell are you doing?" John asked slightly astonished from the doorway.

"What does it look like I am doing" he whispered. John looked back at the scene.

"um, well" he was rather lost for words.

"I'm investigating" Sherlock explained.

"Investigating what?" John asked, Sherlock was silent. What was he investigating some silly hunch that he got from a gasp from Molly, for the very first time in his life he doubted what he was doing.

"I'm checking to see what clothing company this is from and whether I bought her Christmas present from the right place" he lied, his voice monotone.

"and you're doing this at half past three on Christmas Morning?" John said slightly bewildered.

"I haven't had a chance to she's never here"

"well it's Topshop, she bought it two weeks ago, best get to bed" he turned away shaking his head.

"I know" was all Sherlock said under his breath. Of course he knew it was Topshop, he'd spent the last week trying to work out what to get her for Christmas. He sighed and straightened himself out. Christmas eve had been tedious enough and he wished it could skip straight to January third when all this ridcuouls frivolity would be over. He went to leave the room, glancing back at his daughter. She shifted uncomfortable in her chosen resting place. He walked back over and scooped her up in his arms; moving her to her room. He hadn't been in her room since she moved in. He skilfully moved the bags off the bed and placed her inside the covers, patting them in place over her. He took a minute to scan her room. It was tidy, almost too tidy. Nothing was out of place. No photos on the wall, just a few frames on her desk. The covers of vogue where arranged on one wall, the others all blank. He quickly opened her wardrobe. The clothes ordered and coded. He had been wrong. Everything was okay. He clicked the light off and closed the door behind him.