I certainly hope these updates happen more often. I love watching the story go along. I know you guys are always wanting me to update soon too, but there's only so much I can do with life. I'm a senior in high school, so life get's in the way often.

To answer a couple questions I got, in Faults in Personality, there's a chapter where Sherlock mentions how he came up with Etheldrea. Chapter 11: The Geek Interpreter Part 2. Also, Sherlock would have been around eighteen when Etheldrea was born, and if my dates and timelines are correct, nineteen when he took her in.

By the holidays, things could be better, but they weren't as bad it could have been. John getting a girlfriend was one of the few good things at the moment, at least for him. Etheldrea hadn't forgiven Sherlock yet, and probably wouldn't for a while. She was distant with him, but she talked, and laughed, and went on cases. There were times she would forget what happened, only for a moment, and she'd open herself up. But then she'd remember, and then she'd close up again, going off to read or look around a scene. She always wore the necklace though, hidden under her shirt, and it gave Sherlock a very small comfort to know.

With Christmas around the corner, John thought it would be a good idea to go do some shopping. He managed to drag both the Holmes with him, and he'd later regret it. Etheldrea was fine, politely admiring shop windows and displays. Sherlock, however, began complaining the moment they entered the cab. As they walked around, he pointed out all the ridiculous decorations and stand put up in celebration of the "most wonderful time of year."

"John." Sherlock moaned, "Bored."

"Come on, don't you have any thing you need to get for Christmas."

"I do my shopping online. There are people here."

They were just passing by Meet Santa attraction, and when said Santa saw the look on Sherlock's face, he called out to him.

"You there young man, you seem down. Care to ask Santa what you want for Christmas?"

Sherlock gave a small smirk to Etheldrea, "I'm bored and want a nice juicy murder."

He grinned almost devilishly, and a few kids screamed and cried. Parents were shouting and trying to comfort there kids. The entire area was now chaos.

"OK, time to go." John said, grabbing both of the Holmes by their jackets and calling out apologies.

John pushed and pulled them towards the exit, and just as the doors opened, a couple of security officers showed up.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"Home." John said quickly, "Honest to god, getting him home."

"You won't mind if we escort you, you're boyfriend, and daughter."

"He's not my boyfriend. I am not gay."

"Right. Now, let's go."

The officers led them down the path and to a parking lot. They climbed into one of the officer's vehicle and with a quiet fuming from John, rode back to Baker Street. Etheldrea got out of the car first, and hurried up the steps into Baker Street. John wondered what her hurry was, but then Sherlock was rushing too. Shaking his head, he apologized again to the officers, and started into Baker Street.

"Hurry up John!" Sherlock called, "We have a client."

Upstairs, a young girl just a few years older than Etheldrea was sitting in the flat. She had long brown hair, freckly skin, and brown eyes. She looked like a wreck with a white shirt covered in paint, and baggy sweat pants.

"My name is Sally Barnicot." She said, slightly wavering, "And I'm an-"

"Art student." Sherlock said, "Going the stains on your shirt and you're hair."

"My hair?"

"Broken and frizzed all along a certain height, it's constantly held back by a hairband. Except for now of course, only because you came here before getting ready. The t-shirt just confirms it."

John sat down in his chair, pulling Sherlock over to his. He took a seat, and waited expectantly for Miss Barnicot to begin.

"I'm a student at Glender University. My friend, my best friend Pietro Venucci, was murdered a few days ago. The police are looking for the wrong man."

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock asked.

"They think it was a break in gone wrong, but it couldn't have been. Beppo, his boyfriend Beppo Rovito, was in the room."

"Did he witness the murder?"

"He says he found the body, but it's not true. He killed Pietro!"

"Start at the beginning. What have you been told?" John asked.

"It was in the pottery room. Beppo had gone to find him and found him on the floor, window smashed in, and the knife missing. He's lying, he has to be. Pietro and him, it's never been good. They fight all the time, have been off and on for ages now, and Beppo's got a temper. It's so easy to set him off, and he's been in some trouble. Drugs and gang activity, things like that. It was him, please Mr. Holmes, you have to prove it."

She started sobbing and clutched at a gold chain around her neck.

"Did he give that to you?" Sherlock asked, "The necklace?"

"Y-yes. It was a bir-birthday present. I we-wear it e-everyday."

"Miss Barnicot, please leave. My colleague and I are on the case."

"Thank you, thank you so much! I can'-"

Sherlock shooed her out, "Yes, yes. Check back with us tomorrow."

He closed the door on her and then grabbed his computer and sat down in his chair. Both and John and Etheldrea looked at each other before looking back at him, waiting for him to explain what was going on.

"Uh, Sherlock?" John asked, "What are you doing?"

"Researching. . . . Just as I thought. There have been four burglaries within the past few days. A couple of students, one teacher, and a friend of our victim."

"Ok, and what has that to do with anything?"

"You'll see. John, go to Glender University. Pretend to be from the Hickman and get some information on Pietro latest work. Etheldrea, get Lestrade to give you some information on Beppo. When it's time, I text you all where to meet."

He put the computer away, and then stood and grabbed his coat and scarf. Then he was out the door, and John and Etheldrea were left in the dust.

"You'd think he'd let us know just a little bit more." John said.

"Actually, I wouldn't think that. This has to be an easy case, mega easy, and we're supposed to figure it out."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out before me then."

"Me too. Good luck John."

Etheldrea walked into the Yard and immediately headed for Lestrade's office. If anyone could get her the file, it was him. The door was unlocked and she went in. Lestrade sat at his desk, rubbing his face with his hands. He looked up at Etheldrea and immediately put on a work face.

"Um, I can come back later if you want." She said.

"No, it's fine. What's up? Your dad need a case?"

"No, we've got one. I need records though, about a student named Beppo Rovito. He's a suspect in a murder. Not everything, just what he's been up to in the past year."

"Right, give me a couple minutes."

He turned to the computer and was clicking away. In a moment he pulled up some records for her to look at. Etheldrea wrote everything she needed down, thanked him, and started to leave. But, she stopped and turned back.

"Is there anything you want to get off your chest?" She asked him, "I'm as great a listener as I am a talker."

Lestrade gave her a small smile and shook his head, "Family stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."

"If it's any consolation, your wife isn't sleeping with anyone yet."

"Yet."

"Yeah . . . forget I said anything."

"It's ok. Maybe I do need to unwind."

"I'm all ears."

"My brother and his wife are splitting up, and from what I've heard he plans on leaving the area. My nephew, he's been getting into a lot of trouble, and my sister-in-law doesn't know what to do. I've been thinking of letting him stay with us for a while."

"That might be a good idea. If he's in trouble, living with an officer might turn him around."

"You think so? I've still got to think about it, and talk to my wife."

"Good luck Inspector. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."

"You too Ethel."

She left the building and walked down the street as she texted Sherlock. Within a minute, he texted back for her to head for a house near the University. Her next assignment was to talk with the occupants about a stolen bust. John had learned Pietro's latest project had been six identical ceramic sculptures of Margaret Thatcher. All of them had been sold to the people who had been burglarized. She traveled to the house quickly, and was able to get the information Sherlock needed. Nothing besides the bust had been stolen, and that's when Etheldrea connected everything.

After leaving, she sent a text back to Sherlock, who told her to go back to Baker Street. There would be nothing to do until later that night.

"How's Lestrade?" John asked as he ate some pasta.

He had made the three dinner, though unsurprisingly, Sherlock didn't eat. Etheldrea happily helped herself, and chewed and swallowed before talking.

"He could be better. Nothing but the usual family problems."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah, not to mention his wife has cheated on him twice."

"Twice?"

"Yep. She broke up with the latest one last week. I don't think he knew about that one, so I didn't mention it."

"Probably a good idea. Did you invite him to the party next week?"

"Yesterday. He said he'd try to make it."

"So are you just having Abigail over?"

She shrugged, "Who else would I?"

Sherlock groaned from his place in his chair, "This is so dull!"

Etheldrea and John both glared at him.

Etheldrea said harshly. "This is an AB conversation C your way out."

John looked at her, shocked at the comeback, and started laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. Sherlock look irritated for a moment, but then mildly amused.

"W-where did- you learn- that?" John asked between laughs.

"Abigail said it to someone once. I thought it was funny."

"Please, do not hesitate to say that again."

Sherlock stood up and checked his watch, "Come on, it's time to go."

He grabbed his coat and scarf, put them on, and then started walking out the door. John and Etheldrea scrambled after him, and they took a cab to small neighborhood.

"John, take this address. I'll take the other. Etheldrea, head for the bridge and hide near there. If you see anyone don't approach them, you will wait for us."

They split up and went their ways. Etheldrea found a spot in the dark, hidden by bushes and away from street laps. She waited a while before anyone came around. It was a man, in his twenties. He carried with him a large bust that looked like a woman with horns. He ran past where Etheldrea hid and on to the bridge where it had more light. She watched him smash the bust on the ground and then go through the pieces.

He stopped and picked up on piece, and brushed it off. He stood up and looked around, and then looked towards the river. He started to walk to the edge of the bridge, ready to throw what whatever he had. Etheldrea didn't see John or her dad coming, and she ended to stop him somehow.

"Hey!" She called out, jumping from the brush and running at him.

Etheldrea ran into him, throwing both of them to the ground. There was a sting of pain on her cheek. What he had in his hand was a small pen knife, and he had managed a quick swipe at her. She pinned him down and the knife was dropped, but he was struggling hard. He threw her to the side and tried to get up, but she was shoving him back. She kicked the knife away, back towards the broken sculpture. He grabbed the front of her coat and lifted her up, and then pushed her against the bridge railing. The round metal rail dug into her back.

"Beppo Rovito, what a wonderful evening this has been." She muttered sarcastically.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"No one that important." She smirked, "Just someone here to stop you."

"Really now? How will you do that?"

He lifted her up and was pushing her back, ready and willing to throw her in to the river behind her.

"Like this."

She fought back, and grabbed the railing, pulling down and pushing away, which created a short pause from the force. It gave her enough time to knee him, and he dropped her. He was still standing though, and Etheldrea pushed him down. At that moment, John and Sherlock came running up to them. John looked over Beppo. Sherlock grabbed her arm and roughly, but not so much to hurt her, pulled her away.

"I thought I told you to wait for us?" He hissed.

She hissed back, "You took too long. I caught a criminal, be grateful."

"Yes and you also nearly ended up in the river."

"Oh, it wouldn't be the first time!"

"You can't ever have it be the last time either, can you?"

"Can you? I don't see why you're reprimanding me when you're just as reckless as I am!"

"You got hurt!"

It hadn't been a deep cut or even a shallow one. Just a graze large enough to leave a couple trails down her side. It didn't even drip.

"Why would you care? It's not even bleeding, at least not anymore."

"Guys!" John shouted, "We do have a criminal here."

Etheldrea noticed that when she asked why he would care, a look of hurt flashed across his face. She tore herself away from him, fixed her jacket, and then walked over to the broken sculpture. Next to them, she found the black pearl oval pen knife with a BR engraved in it. She picked it up and looked it over.

"I did it." Beppo muttered sadly, "We had an argument, and then we fought. I don't know when I got the knife out, but then he was on the ground and bleeding. The statues were about to go in the oven, so I shoved the knife in one. I panicked."

"And the break in?" John asked.

"Smashed a window."

John grabbed him, stood him up, and started to walk him away.

"Come on you two; let's get him to the Yard."

Etheldrea was silently fuming as Sherlock and Lestrade talked. John was sitting next to her, tending to the small cut on her cheek. He finished up and looked over her expression. He noted how exasperated she looked, arms cross and face hidden as best as she could behind her short hair.

"He was worried." He said.

"Really? Wouldn't have guessed." She muttered.

"Every parent worries about their kid, especially when they see them in trouble."

"I wasn't in trouble; I had the most control over the situation."

"Perhaps danger is a better word."

"He shouldn't worry; I'm fine on my own."

"You aren't on your own though. You don't need to be."

"It doesn't matter if I've got anyone, or whether or not I want them. I don't need to be looked after like a child. I know how to take care of myself and he doesn't trust that. Or at least, he doesn't seem to trust anymore."

"I don't think you've been looking at him hard enough. We're always going to be looking after you. It's what we do." He pointed out, "You've got him, and me. Mycroft too, it seems."

"Don't get me started on Uncle Mycroft. Eleven months, eight days until mostly freedom forever."

"And it'll be your eighteenth. The three of us will have to do something special."

"Sure."

"Etheldrea, I know it's hard, but you both need to talk this out now and again. Just once isn't enough."

"In case you haven't noticed, neither of us is very good with emotional conversation."

"Yeah, well, maybe you need to try something different. A father-daughter day out. A case for just you and him, a trip to your favorite stores, dinner at Angelo's. Bonding time where you can talk. When was the last time you had that?"

"Italy. There hasn't been enough time for just us, not when we've been getting cases left and right."

"You two need to take a day off. You're going to burn out eventually."

Sherlock walked over, "We can go home, now that little fiasco is over. Etheldrea, do you think you can get there without risking injury?"

Etheldrea gave John a look, and then stood and strode out. John huffed and put a hand to his face.

"Good going Sherlock." He muttered, standing up and walking away.