"Annette Hallows," Dad stated firmly, as he stared down at the corpse. Flashes of red and blue would illuminate the dark skin, and the soft sound of the siren bounced off of the walls.

Lestrade glanced over from Donovan, looking at Dad. "I'm sorry?"

"Annette Hallows," Dad repeated. "I can't prove it, but she is the one responsible for all of these murders."

Lestrade's face fell slightly. "What do you mean, you can't prove it? You're…you're bloody Sherlock Holmes! You had to come to that conclusion somehow!"

Dad glanced over at me, and I felt my pulse accelerate slightly. Lestrade couldn't know about Mum—it would ruin her. And despite everything she had done, I couldn't help but want to protect her. It was human nature, a basic instinct that even Dad could comprehend.

"I won't bother explaining it to you," Dad huffed. "The evidence will not hold up in court—but the killer is indeed Annette Hallows."

Lestrade sighed a bit, stooping a bit as he gazed down at the body. The woman didn't match the profiles of the previous victims—her skin was dark and luxurious. She wore a smart power suit and her hair was in a bit of a tangled mess—signs of a struggle.

And just like before, she had been stabbed in the heart. Her mobile device stuck out of her pocket awkwardly, a sleek and brand new iPhone model. Dad crouched down a bit, pulling the knife out of the body gingerly.

"A small knife," he muttered. "Easily concealed. The handle, of course, is identical to the rest."

He handed the knife over to Lestrade, who nervously packaged it up into an evidence bag. Dad turned his gaze away from us, pulling out his own mobile and furiously typing away.

"Mind if I have a look?" I said timidly, looking at Lestrade for permission. Donovan rolled her eyes a bit behind him, but he nodded at me.

"Thanks," I said awkwardly, crouching down next to the corpse. Carefully, I plucked the mobile out of her pocket, and pressed the home button. The device illuminated quickly, showing a text from 07774 123 456.

It was a London area code, but the message was what terrified me. I gulped a bit, staring at it, as if to confirm that it was indeed real.

Text me the answer once you realize how they all began –M.

"Who is M?" Donovan asked abruptly, causing me to jump a little bit. She smiled at me friendlily, yet then her gaze hardened. "This could be something. Oi, boss, come look at this!"

Lestrade walked over, looking over my shoulder as well. The screen illuminated his face as well, highlighting the lines created from countless nights of stress. He breathed out heavily, before glancing over at Dad expectantly.

Dad still was typing away furiously on his phone, cursing under his breath every now and then—his own search must not have been all too successful.

"Jade, care to explain for us, then?" Lestrade offered, a strained smile appearing on his face.

Even now, they all continued to doubt me.

"M could be Moriarty," I joked a bit, trying to lighten the mood. "But…I think M is for Masquerade—Dad and I had a bit of a run in with her the other day."

"Why didn't you tell us this?" Lestrade glared a bit. He stood up and started to pace back and forth. "We let you two in on cases as a privilege—not a right. You need to report into us more."

My face turned red, yet Dad was still busy—he wouldn't be much help. "It didn't seem to be related to the case—but this, this confirms it. Consider yourself informed…Inspector."

His face calmed down a bit, and even Donovan seemed to be a little sated. He smiled wearily at me. "Sorry for snapping, it's just….this case…It's not helping our solve rate at all."

I blinked a bit. Was that all he was stressing over? A solve rate? Sure, solve rates were commonly used to measure up the strength of a police department—but I thought the answer to the mystery was what was driving him nuts.

"And of course, I don't fancy someone dropping bodies," Lestrade frowned.

"Bad for business," I teased, still troubled over his remark.

He rolled his eyes slightly, before returning his gaze to the body.

Dad stalked back over, angrily shoving his mobile back into his pocket. "This murder is different—it's a new message."

Donovan frowned. "How on earth can you tell? It looks the same to me!"

"No playing cards?" I offered, looking at Dad expectantly. He returned a warm smile, before waving his hands around in the air lazily—something wasn't going well.

"Exactly—a text on the mobile?" he raised an eyebrow, glancing at it. He instantly reached the same conclusion as I. "This confirms it—Masquerade is Annette Hallows, or at least, related. I favor the former option."

I nodded, peering at the text again. "It's a game—like Moriarty's game. We have to text the answer to the puzzle."

Lestrade hit his head with his palm, groaning wearily. "Come on! Why can't I get normal criminals for once in a while?! Why do we always get the psychopaths?"

Donovan rubbed his back gingerly, but even she looked more distressed than usual. "A fan of Moriarty…That's not good, boss."

Rapidly aging by the second, Lestrade nodded. He stood up straight again, resuming his full height. His hair seemed to become greyer by the second, and the lines in his face only became deeper.

"Bollocks," he muttered. "Let's not have a repeat of last time if we can help it."

"No faking our deaths?" Dad smirked, his eyes twinkling a bit. "Rest assured, Graham, this case will be solved easily. We'll have the solution sent to this number within a day."

"It's Greg," Lestrade glared. "And you bloody better…I don't get paid enough for this shit!"

"Of course, Geoffrey," Dad stated, winking a bit. "And for once, John's blog is quite right—the game is on!"


"And there, that'll do it!" I grinned, pinning the last photograph onto the bulletin board.

I stood back, admiring my handiwork. Even Dad looked a little bit impressed—an accomplishment. Each victim had been placed on there, with a photograph of the location they were murdered at. Every little detail about the case had been included, creating a gorgeous collage of death.

It was just a normal family activity.

"Well done," Dad murmured. His eyes swept over the bulletin board, pausing on certain photographs.

His eyes lingered on the photograph of the text message, instructing us to notice how some particular thing began. He frowned a bit, before the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. His forehead remained creased—an unhappy conclusion.

"I've solved it," he announced. "This is your next examination, Jade. Solve the murderer's puzzle and you pass."

My eyes popped out of my head. "You want me to solve this?"

I stared at him, completely incredulous. Dad only chuckled at me, picking up his violin and beginning to play. It took me a moment to realize it was the Jeopardy theme—he was mocking me.

I huffed. "Fine! I'll solve the stupid puzzle…"

The music continued, further taunting me. I squinted my eyes at the bulletin board, as if that somehow would make the answer pop out at me. Nothing happened. I growled a bit, wondering if I could scare myself into figuring it out.

And that, too, failed predictably.

"You might want to try your mind palace," Dad hinted, with a soft chuckle.

I shook my head. "I'll solve it without cheating, thanks."

Taking a deep breath, the text message Dad was examining caught my eye. It couldn't have been the names of the victims—or could it have been? I frowned again—the location had something to do with it all for sure.

The electronics store.

The diner.

The aquarium.

The jail.

What if it was in reverse? I rearranged the titles in my mind, and I eliminated the article—it made more sense that way.

Jail.

Aquarium.

Diner.

Electronics store.

"JADE," I blurted, my insides freezing. "That's the answer to the puzzle—it's JADE."

The music stopped abruptly, and Dad turned, giving me a smile filled with pride and fear. He ruffled my hair slightly, and then he slowly put an arm around me, pulling me close.

"Seems you have a fan," Dad chuckled a bit, yet the laughter didn't reach his eyes.

"This is weird," I said simply.

"I know—you never expect to get a fan."

"No, I meant you hugging me," I giggled.

"Oh," Dad said, his eyebrows furrowed. He removed his arm and stepped back, giving me a space bubble. He frowned a bit, struggling to form some sort of apology.

"It's fine," I laughed a bit, though there was a strange emptiness inside of me. I couldn't understand why I tried so hard for Dad's affection, but when it came, I couldn't accept it. It felt taboo.

Something that I could never possibly be worthy of.

"I'll send the text to Masquerade with the answer," Dad muttered. "I advise you stay safe, Jade. Lestrade is right—this individual is highly dangerous."

"I know," I smiled thinly. "I'm not stupid."

"Never said you were," Dad frowned. "I find you to be quite intelligent, Jade."

I nodded, my cheeks heating up once again. I had a terrible problem with that—I blushed far too easily. "Thanks…Dad."


I sat on my bed, staring up at the glow in the dark stars. The stars used to be something of significance to me—I would gush about how much I loved Astronomy for hours. But now, it was all tinged with pain. I was staring at someone else's life.

"Fuck this," I sighed, getting up from my perch. I walked over to the post of the Milky Way Galaxy, covered with all sorts of neat little facts. Pressing my hand against it, I breathed in and felt the glossy material.

And then I tore it down.

I crumpled the poster in my hand, feeling empty—and relieved. I let the crumpled ball fall onto the ground, the poster hitting the floor softly. There was now an empty spot on the wall, free of the dreams of yesterday.

I spotted another poster—a chart showing each of the planets—and I felt the material of it as well. A tear slid down my cheek as I ripped it off of the wall, the edges of it tearing. I let it drop, watching it fall onto the floor.

"Goodbye," I whispered softly. I found more posters and tore them down in a frenzy, until everything relating to Astronomy was gone. The walls of my room seemed bare and empty, and I laughed a little bit.

Gazing upwards, I saw the stars on the ceiling, continuing to mock me. I hopped up on top of a bookshelf, climbing until I could reach the stars. And then, without any sort of ceremony, I tore them down. They fell to the ground, landing limply, waiting to be forgotten.

I blinked back a few tears, filling the silence with melancholic laughter. The person I used to be was dead on the floor, covered in posters of an old obsession. I greeted the bare walls, feeling them with my hands.

I could start over.

I could reinvent myself.

"I don't have to be sad anymore," I giggled, laughing softly through my tears. My vision blurred a bit, and I grinned wider, lost in some sort of gloomy ecstasy.

Hopping down from the bookshelf, I turned my gaze to my laptop. Usually, it served the purpose of reading fanfiction and watching Netflix—two of my hobbies. It helped me binge watch every show I could imagine, including the hilarious show, based off of Dad's life: Elementary.

My biggest disappointment was that no one seemed to know I existed—in all of the Sherlock fan blogs, they assumed he lived completely alone. They didn't know that he had a daughter. It was a deep scar that shouldn't have mattered, but the lack of acknowledgement stung.

It was as if it came from Dad instead of clueless strangers.

I opened the laptop and clicked for a new browser, Google staring back at me expectantly. I took a deep breath—now was my chance to follow a new dream, to invent a new passion.

"Let's look at neuroscience…"


"Do you want me to come inside?" Dad offered.

"No," I shook my head. "I…I think I can go in all by myself. I can manage."

I smiled at him weakly, and I waved goodbye. Agatha stood at the door waiting for me, smiling like a chipmunk. She ushered me inside and shut the door behind me, preventing the detective from learning much of our conversation.

"It's been a while, Jade," Agatha stated playfully. "Please, have a seat."

I nodded and sat down on the sofa, every inch of my body trembling from fear. I never could relax in these sessions. I wanted to run away as fast as I could, to protect myself from someone discovering the darkness inside of me.

"So, what would you like to talk about?" Agatha asked, smiling at me.

I hesitated, various topics coming to mind. I could discuss the feelings of inadequacy, I could whine and moan about Patrick, and I could share the odd feelings I have towards Masquerade.

"I want to talk about my dad," I said, surprising myself.

"What about him?" Agatha replied softly, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"I…I can't talk to him about things," I admitted. "It's…It's like it's wrong for me to talk to him."

Agatha nodded a bit, excellently following each rule of active listening. She stared at me, waiting for me to continue, with no sign of making a single comment or giving a piece of advice.

"And I should be able to talk to him about things," I rambled. "But I can't. I just can't and…I wish that I would be able to talk to him about things."

"Why can't you talk to him about things?" Agatha pressed quietly, scribbling down a few notes onto her pad. Her eyes looked me over, noticing every little tremble, and every little bit of hesitation.

Why couldn't I talk to Dad about things? I frowned, biting my lip a bit, as I pondered the question. Every time I tried to, I felt…weak. I felt as if I was bothering him, as if he could never have any time to deal with someone like me.

But what sort of person was I? Only a psychopath wouldn't have time for their own daughter, right? There was no reason for Dad to not care about me—even if Uncle preached not caring, even he cared.

So what was holding me back?

"I don't think I'm good enough," I said lamely, staring down at the floor. "I'm…I'm not as smart as Dad is. He shouldn't waste time on me."

"He isn't wasting time on you," Agatha corrected. "He's spending time with you because he loves you, Jade."

I swallowed, a few tears coming. I blinked again, trying to hide any sign of emotions.

"You need to let yourself feel, Jade," Agatha suggested. "It isn't bad to have feelings—it's human."

"Uncle said caring isn't an advantage," I muttered. "I have to be…I have to be above it all."

Agatha laughed a bit. "Your uncle has an attachment disorder—he cares for you and your father more than you two could ever know. Now, your father loves you, Jade."

I peered up at her, hardly able to see through the tears. "Does he really?"

"Why don't you go ask him yourself, Jade?" Agatha smiled, motioning for me to look at the door.

Dad stood outside it, visible from his frame. I got up and opened the door, seeing his face filled with surprise and concern.

"Do you…Do you love me Dad?" I stammered, feeling weak.

He chuckled a bit, yet then the laughter faded. "Of course I love you, Jade. Why would you think otherwise?"