Wow! Surprisingly, I got a review (courtesy of MoonlitIvy, whom I extend my thanks) which means I can post the next chapter. Also, a mob hasn't come to rake me over the hot coals yet. Or maybe you guys are just waiting...

Just so you guys know, this is my first Fan Fiction flick. Sheridan, the daughter of Dani and Sherlock, should not be looked on as merely a plot device intended for shock value. She is a major character, with a huge part to play in this story. Further, I wanted to explore the possibility of a child that had traits from both Moriarty's family (through his sister, Dani) and the Holmes family (via Sherlock). How much will Sheridan be like Sherlock, and how much will she be like Dani (and by extension, Moriarty)?

Thus, in order to explore the answers to these questions, as well as allow Sheridan to become a major piece in this chess game between Sherlock and Moriarty, I needed to be able to have her interact with others, as well as show events from her point of view. Otherwise, her actions later in the story will make no sense. Plus, through her, I can reveal more about Dani and Moriarty.

Thus, despite losing the air of mystery, as well as killing off an OC before we even really had a chance to know her, I had to reveal the rudements of Sherlock's plan and Sheridan's existance, as they take center stage in the next few chapters.

So please, please, please don't give up on this story just yet! There is still alot we don't know! What is Sherlock's plan? How will Mycroft, John, and company react when they learn that Sherlock is alive? How do they react when they learn about Sheridan?

And how will Moriarty react when he finds out the truth? How much farther can he unrival?

Chapter Twelve: Inner Reflections

"Nothing you do for a child is ever wasted." Garrison Keillor, Leaving Home

Bright, morning sun fell aslant through the blinds when Sheridan stirred from her sleep. Accustomed as she was to life on the run, first with her mother and now with her father, it did not distress her at all to wake up in a strange bed. She threw off the covers and set up in bed for a second to stretch.

She glanced back at her father, slouched in a seat with his eyes closed and his breathing even. He must have been up all night planning and finally fell asleep sometime in the night. Sheridan smiled to herself as she took one of the discarded blankets and carefully draped it over her father, who continued to sleep on.

Sheridan knew that her father did not like to sleep during a case, and lately she was starting to worry for him, as he would sometimes go days without rest. Even when he did sleep, it never seemed to be for long periods of time. A couple of hours, at most.

So whenever she saw that Dad was resting, she was always careful not to wake him.

Realizing she had time to herself, she went to the closet and found a fresh set of clothes to change into. She took those and her toothbrush to the hotel bathroom, then locked the door. Within twenty minutes she had showered, changed, brushed her teeth, and dried her hair.

Being able to get up and ready at a moment's notice was another trick she had learned from being on the road so much.

She took a moment to glance at herself in the mirror, suddenly wondering how much she had changed in the last year after Mom died.

She was older, obviously. She was seven when Mom died. Now she was eight. She had grown taller too, shooting up almost three inches in height. But she was tiny to begin with, so that wasn't saying much.

I wonder if I will get tall, like Dad. Sheridan wondered. I hope so! I don't like being short! But I look so much like Dad, so there's a chance I'll be tall, too.

It was true, Sheridan reflected as she gazed in the mirror. She did resemble her father much more than she did her mother.

Mom, with her beautiful straight red hair, her rosy complexion, and her warm brown eyes, with the gold lines in them that looked like fireworks. As far as Sheridan was concerned, Mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. Not even the cancer that killed her could keep people from seeing just how beautiful she was. She remembered the nurses whispering about her.

So sad. She's so young and pretty…

Sheridan felt a strange emptiness every time she thought of her mother, and now was no exception. The world did not know it, but it lost so much the day Mom died.

And on that terrible day, over a year ago, Sheridan did lose her whole world.

Next to her, Sheridan felt so plain in comparison, like an ugly duckling next to a beautiful swan. She had dark hair that was curly and always stayed that way, no matter what she did to it. Her skin was so pale, even when she spent countless hours in the sun.

And her eyes were such an unusual color. Not blue, not grey, and not green, but a strange mixture of the three.

She had never seen anyone with the same color eyes that she had before she met Sherlock, or 'Dad,' as she started calling him, after what happened in Tibet last December.

So far, he hadn't objected.

She found they shared many of the same traits and interests as well. Before meeting her father, Sheridan felt awash in a sea of information. No matter what, whenever she met a person, facts about them just came naturally to her mind. Was the person married? Did he have kids? Or pets? What did he eat for dinner that day? What does he do for a living?

Being in a huge crowd was the hardest part. All that information assaulting her mind from multiple sides was like thousands of voices screaming at once. She sometimes thought she would go mad. And not like the "mad" like "Alice in Wonderland," but really insane, like those people who drooled on themselves in those hospital buildings, raving about strange things.

When she was three and it happened for the first time, Mom seemed to know what was going on. First, she took her out of the area, far away from everyone. Then, Mom talked to her calmly put a pair of sunglasses on her. "Just breathe, Sheri! It's ok, sweetheart!"

Mom's voice helped her then, as did the sunglasses.

Later, Mom told Sheridan that her father suffered from the same "headaches" when he was younger, so it was nothing for her to worry about. It was what made her "freaky," Mom had said. And that was a good thing, because Mom loved freaky things more than anything else in the world.

It was also the first time Mom ever spoke about Dad to Sheridan.

Since that day, even with Mom gone, Sheridan always kept a pair of sunglasses handy. They didn't help that much, but they allowed her to close her eyes behind the shades so that she wouldn't be bombarded by her senses so much. And if she had her sunglasses on, no one would see that she was closing her eyes.

Those monks that they stayed with at Tibet taught her and Dad that thing called meditation. It involved sitting down and blocking out all thoughts. That gave her some relief too, even though she still had not quite mastered it. Dad was a little better at it, but not much. As Mom had told her, they both had restless natures.

Like her mother, Sheridan found she had a natural talent for computers. She had already hacked into several supposedly secured sites by the time she was six, including that memorable time she hacked into the Pentagon's mainframe.

Mom was not particularly happy about that one! Sheridan smirked as she looked at her reflection. But the Pentagon deserved to know that one of their own was a traitor, right? It wasn't her fault that U.S. Intelligence was so dumb! They needed to know!

And yes, maybe taking a few classified documents and fixing their grammatical errors was a little childish, but what if the President was reading them and had to make a quick decision, but was distracted because of all the comma errors and misspelled words?

Mom didn't seem to find that the explanation justified Sheridan's little breach into the Pentagon mainframe, so she was grounded from using computers for a month.

It was probably the longest month of Sheridan's life! She was so...bored!

Dad, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind that Sheridan liked to explore the limits of her computer hacking abilities. After Dad came and got her, her computer hacking days continued, much to her delight. Under Dad's direction, she had hacked into many security systems throughout the world. Once, she even hacked into Uncle Mycroft's private computer, under Dad's direction, to wish him a happy birthday!

Already, in her short career as a computer hacker, she had gained a name and reputation of sorts for herself.

Chimera. Her code name. She picked it out herself, and she was proud of it!

But just being allowed to continue her online activities wasn't the only perk about living with Dad. There were other things too.

Dad was not as affectionate as Mom was. Not at all! He didn't like hugs, or that kind of thing! And he wasn't good with expressing himself. He also lacked the social graces that Mom had.

But he was somehow intuned to what Sheridan wanted or needed at any given time. And he showed his affection in other ways, such as taking an active interest in the subjects she was learning and helping her develop and control her ability to "see" things better.

And there were other things too. If times were really bad, and there was little food, he made her eat it. Or he would let her sleep and keep watch at night, particularly if there were Bad Men in the area. So, in his own way, Dad became her world, just as Mom had done before him.

When Mom finally died, ravaged by the cancer that claimed her, Sheridan was heartbroken. For years, it had been only her and Mom. There was no one else. It was also one of the few times in her life that she cried.

She was certain that she would end up in foster care, unless someone came to claim her.

Someone like Moriarty.

Sheridan shuddered visibly. All her life, she was chased by the BAD MAN, her mother's older brother. James Moriarty.

Personally, Sheridan was certain that the real James Moriarty was switched at birth with a homicidal demon from Hell.

How else can such a monster be related to someone as kind and loving as Mom?

So when Mom died, Sheridan resigned herself to go into foster care. Better to live with boring people than with that monster!

But Dad came and got me.

"Sheridan?" A hoarse croak sounded behind the door.

Dad's awake.

"One moment, Dad!" Sheridan called back as she gave her black locks a final comb and did her best to put on a brave face and hide her anxiety.

Moriarty might be close by, but he would never get past Dad! Already, he took out almost all of Moriarty's men. And it felt good to be on the offensive, to hurt Moriarty before he hurt them!

And they would get him.

She owed Mom that much.

"So what are we going to do today?" Sheridan asked as she ate her cereal. "Are we finally going to go and meet Uncle Mycroft and Uncle John?"

Sherlock frowned as he took a bite of his toast. Normally, he wouldn't dream of doing something as mundane as eating breakfast (even if it was only two slices of toast), but his daughter's stubborn nature of refusing to eat unless he ate meant that he had to compromise on some of the rules he usually kept for himself. "Not yet, Sheri. It's not safe. But soon."

Sheridan nodded thoughtfully before digging her spoon back into her cereal, but she couldn't hide the disappointment on her face. "You mean when Moriarty is behind bars."

Sherlock nodded absently as he glanced through the paper. He was reading the main article about the "Satanic Slasher."

As usual, those incompetents from the Yard did not have the first clue what was going on!

And that could be dangerous.

Especially for John, if Moriarty ever learned Sherlock was still alive.

"I don't think he will stop, Dad." Sheridan spoke up as she finished her cereal.

Sherlock looked at her curiously. "Moriarty?"

Sheridan nodded seriously. "I think he will break out! Or come after us while he's in prison. I don't think anything can stop him!"

Sherlock looked at his daughter wonderingly. Even though she was eight, she already showed incredible wisdom for her age, a feat that made it somewhat easier for Sherlock to adjust to his forced role as father and caregiver.

Sherlock never liked children in general. The ones he often came into contact with were loud, messy, and clingy.

But Sheridan was none of those things. She was just… Sheridan. A class unto herself, with her own set of rules.

And she was smart as well. Sherlock was relieved to learn that, because it would have been so irritating to have a dull child!

But sometimes, especially in situations like this, Sherlock wished his daughter was not so intuitive. Like her, Sherlock had already deduced that Moriarty would never stop chasing them as long as he was alive.

There was really only one way to stop him.

But Sheridan didn't have to know that.

Sherlock took a last bite of his toast and set it down on the plate. "Sheridan, now that we are in London, there is something we need to discuss. Are you listening carefully?"

"Yes, Dad." Sheridan said, pushing her bowl away and sitting up straight. Her piercing eyes, exactly like Sherlock's, stared up at him. "What is it?"

Sherlock set the newspaper down. "Sheri, you remember how we talked about what happened to me? That I had to pretend to be dead to protect John?"

Sheridan nodded, serious. "Uh-huh! I remember."

"And you remember why I had to do it?" Sherlock prompted.

Sheridan frowned in annoyance. "I may be eight, but I do have a memory, Dad! Moriarty had everyone hating you, saying that the thing that gives us headaches was make-believe. That you were a fraud! And you aren't, but everyone believed you were! And Moriarty made you jump of that roof. To save John from being shot. But you tricked Moriarty by playing make-believe that you were dead. So you could go after Moriarty's Bad Men first!"

"That's right!" Sherlock nodded. "And now almost all the Bad Men are gone. But that's not the point."

"Are you afraid Moriarty will find out you are alive before the rest of the Bad Men are gone?" Sheridan asked, eyes widening.

"Yes, Sheri. I am." Sherlock admitted quietly. As usual, Sheridan had a knack for figuring out the crux of the problem. "And that is why we need to discuss something. Do you remember when we were in Tokyo and Tibet? And I had to leave you behind on your own for awhile?"

Sheridan nodded. "I remember."

"Well, I may have to do that again. But because Moriarty is here, the situation is going to be much more dangerous."

Sheridan paled. "Are you going to send me away? Please, don't Dad! I'll stay out of your way! I promise! But don't make me go!"

Sherlock sighed. "As much as I would like for you to be somewhere safe, I can't risk it. There simply is nowhere to go yet. Not without Moriarty knowing."

Sheridan huffed and crossed her arms in front of her. "I'm staying! I wouldn't even go with Irene if you asked me to, and I like her!"

Sherlock smirked as he recalled the first time he ran into Irene after his "death." It was in October of last year, a few weeks after he retrieved Sheridan.

Unbidden, a memory escaped from the confines of his memory palace.

Irene was hiding in Las Vegas at the time. She was sitting on a park bench when Sherlock spied her while taking Sheridan out for a walk. He saw the woman sitting so still, her eyes trained on the sunset as it's dying lights cast colored rays on her beautiful face. By the far-away look in her eyes, Sherlock deduced that she was currently remembering other, more exciting times in her life.

"Dad?" Sheridan had asked. "Why are you looking at that woman for? Do you know her?"

Sherlock smirked. "I do know her. She is hiding from the Bad Men too."

Sheridan glanced back at the woman and looked at her more closely. "Are you sure? I don't recognize her, and I know all of the people Mom has helped before!"

"Your mother isn't the only one capable of helping someone hide from Moriarty." Sherlock explained crpytically. "Sheri, I want you to go over to her and introduce yourself. Tell her that she knows your father, and that he wants to say hello."

"Why don't you do it?" Sheridan asked curiously.

"Trust me! This will be more entertaining." Sherlock told her. "Could you do this for me?"

Sheridan nodded. She inherited her mother's ability to get along well with people, and was able to charm strangers with natural ease that Sherlock sometimes found himself envying. Without another word, Sheridan walked straight over to where Irene was sitting.

As they were quite some distance away, Sherlock did not have the benefit of hearing what they were saying to each other. Nevertheless, he could clearly see Irene's face when she was startled out of her daydreams, then her smile as Sheridan said something to her. Probably a meaningless compliment of some sort.

Then Sheridan turned and pointed to Sherlock, who was waiting on the pavement. He smiled and waved a hand in greeting.

The look on Irene's face when she found out Sherlock was alive was memorable enough. Then, as realization hit Irene that Sherlock had a child, her expression was beyond priceless!

He would never delete that from his hard drive!

"So we agree, then. You stay with me, but you must do everything I tell you to do without question!" Sherlock replied, putting the encounter with Irene out of his mind for the time being.

"Of course, Dad! Don't I always?" Sheridan smiled innocently.

Sherlock frowned. "I'm serious, Sheri! But that's not what I wanted to say." Sherlock paused before continuing. "If there is ever a point that things become too dangerous, and Moriarty's men are around, I am going to take you to Uncle Mycroft. Since the CCTV system is still compromised, it is best if I send you to the Diogenes Club that I have spoken to you about."

Sheridan considered this briefly. "So you may send me to Uncle Mycroft at some point?"

Sherlock nodded. "If a time comes when we absolutely have to gain control of the CCTV system, I may not have a choice. Considering the imbeciles my brother usually hires on these matters, it may become necessary for you to reveal yourself and help him gain control of the system back from Moriarty. I'm not saying that is the plan! Not yet, in any case! I'm merely planning for all possible outcomes."

Sheridan thought for a moment before nodding her assent.

Sherlock smiled, pleased that Sheridan accepted the possibility without a fuss. "Now, Mycroft will know instantly that you are my daughter. Because he is like us." Sherlock explained. "He sees things like we do."

"So he will know right away he is my uncle!" Sheridan reflected.

"Yes. He's very perceptive, but not as intelligent as I am." Sherlock noted stoically.

"No one is as smart as you are, Dad!" Sheridan affirmed.

Sherlock continued as though Sheridan had not said anything, although he was secretly pleased with Sheridan's pronouncement. "But there is something very important I need you to remember! If I have to send you to Mycroft, then you must never tell anyone that I am still alive! It's important!" Sherlock said seriously.

"But why, Dad?" Sheridan seemed puzzled. "Don't you want Uncle John and Uncle Mycroft to know?"

Sherlock frowned. "Not yet. It's difficult to explain, Sheri."

"Are you afraid that they will be angry at you, Dad?"

Sherlock smirked despite himself. For all of her looks and intelligence, Sheridan still retained her mother's ability to see the emotional side of people. "I'm sure they both will be very angry at me, Sheri! Especially John. He won't like the fact that I tricked him into think I was dead. I imagine he will probably punch me in the jaw once he finds out!"

"But everyone knows the truth now! Everyone knows you can see things!" Sheridan protested. "They know you aren't a fraud, Dad! And they know Moriarty made you jump!"

"That's not the point, Sheridan!" Sherlock replied. "John will be upset because I didn't tell him the truth. Many people will be upset with me. They may think that I didn't trust them."

"I don't understand!" Sheridan muttered. "If they think that, they are obviously not being logical!"

Sherlock sighed. Time to change tactics.

"Sheri, I will let everyone know I'm alive, but only if the time is right! If Moriarty learned I was still alive before I can stop him, he may go after John again and try to hurt him. And that will not make me happy."

"And Moriarty wouldn't want to see you unhappy, right, Dad?" Sheridan asked with unalloyed admiration shinning in her eyes.

Sheridan made it no secret that she was proud of her father. As far as she was concerned, he was the smartest man alive. And the bravest, too. He was taking Moriarty down so that one day she could have what other kids had.

A home she could stay in for years and years. Maybe even the chance to go to school someday...

"Precisely! And that is why if anyone asks, you must never reveal I am alive! I'll do that myself, when the time is right. Will you promise?" Sherlock asked seriously.

Sheridan regarded her father seriously. "I promise, Dad. But what do I do when Uncle Mycroft realizes that I'm your daughter? What do I say?" Sheridan asked curiously.

"Sherlock smiled. "I want you to tell them that your mom told you to find Uncle Mycroft and that you got here on your own. Your computer talents are such that your explanation will certainly be plausible."

Sheridan nodded. "So you want me to lie." There was no censer in her tone. Sheridan already learned from Mom about the difference between lies that you were not supposed to tell versus lies that Sheridan had to say to stay safe.

It was the difference between "a bit not good" and "very bad."

"Yes, Sheridan. It's for your own safety. And John's safety as well."

"Well, after we catch Moriarty, and we tell the truth, may I tell them about Abby?" Sheridan asked curiously, glancing over at the nightstand, where Abby, Sheridan's companion, was sitting on the nightstand, sightless eyes gazing back.

Sherlock suddenly chuckled. "It's fine if you show them Abby, Sheri! In fact, if you ever run into Lestrade, Anderson, or Donovan, you have my full permission to show them Abby! If you remember to, you can even tape their reactions for me to see if I'm not there!"

"Lestrade was the Yarder who Moriarty also threatened, right?" Sheri asked curiously.

"Yes, Sheri. You are correct." Sherlock grinned mischievously.

If he was lucky, he would be there to see the Yarders when they met Abby, Sheridan's little "friend."

But considering what he had to do, the chances of that were too slim to be mathematically feasible.

"You know, Dad?" Sheridan said pensively, disrupting Sherlock's thoughts. "Those other Yarders, Donovan and Anderson? The ones you told me about? I bet they aren't as bad anymore! And I'm sure that they want to say that they are sorry to you."

Sherlock frowned. Although he knew Lestrade would apologize, he rather doubted the idiotic duo Donovan and Anderson ever would. "I don't wish for apologies from the likes of Scotland Yard."

"I know you don't care what other people think, Dad. But I still think that they may not be all that bad, if you give them another chance." Sheridan persisted.

Sherlock remained silent, refusing to argue with his daughter's well-meant but incredibly naive view of the world and how it worked.

She didn't need to know how cruel the world could be yet.

The rest of the day went by pleasantly enough. Sheridan spent the morning doing her lessons, something she had done almost every day since she was four. Partly because she didn't want to be dull, and partly because she wanted to be able to go to school someday, and she didn't want to be behind.

Because Moriarty continued to chase Danielle around the States, she could not afford to send Sheridan to school, for fear that one of his men would snatch her, as they almost succeeded in doing when Sheridan was four. So Danielle had taught her on her own before she died, and Sherlock, despite his misgivings about the educational system in general, faithfully prompted Sheridan to continue her studies.

Currently, Sheridan was learning Math, English Grammar, Science, World History, French, Spanish, and German.

Sherlock, for his part, spent the morning going through the newspapers, learning everything he could about what was happening with this new case, and strategizing the best course of action.

Today was a day of planning, nothing more. The trip over to England was physically draining on both of them, and they needed time to recover.

Everything had to go perfectly. He could not afford to make a mistake now.

There was too much at stake.

Usually, Sherlock would not be this cautious. And he hated it. But he understood the necessity of it, and adapted his methods accordingly.

Being a father over the past year taught him many valuable lessons in patience.

Even as he reviewed the case, his mind drifted, and he wondered anew why John bothered to share a flat with someone like him for so long.

He also considered how John would react when he learned that Sherlock had a daughter. What would the ex-army doctor make of all of this?

Sherlock didn't need to search the web to know that situations like faking your death and living on the run while simultaneously taking out your enemies and protecting your friends and daughter was not exactly normal. So he was admittedly at a loss on what to do. As children apparently didn't come with an instructional guide, most of it he had to learn through trial and error.

One of the hardest things Sherlock had to contend with was Sheridan's continuing education. Exactly what do you teach an eight year old girl?

When he had first run into Irene in Nevada, she was kind enough to get Sheridan some age-appropriate textbooks, but it was immediately apparent that she was already too advanced for them.

Her reading abilities were extraordinary for a child her age. She loved to read all kinds of books, including the Harry Potter series, The Lord of the Rings books, and also the Chronicles of Narnia books.

And, of course, she loved Treasure Island.

Sheridan's math and science skills, on the other hand, were a bit neglected when Sherlock first took up the task of teaching his daughter. Sherlock suspected it had to do with Danielle's confusion on how to teach her daughter how to master those subjects and not with Sheridan's inability to grasp the concepts.

He was proven right over time, as Sheridan was currently learning the basics of algebra and was focusing on how to spot and recognize parts of a cell under a microscope.

Sherlock despaired about not having a real microscope for this task, having to rely on the internet instead.

His regrets were lost to Sheridan, who seemed to thoroughly enjoy learning the subjects. As she had cheerfully pointed out, they could get a real microscope someday, or maybe get to use his old one, provided no one threw it away.

Until then, she was determined to learn what to look for when she eventually got that chance.

Besides the basic subjects, there were the daily lessons on the art of "deduction." Almost every day, unless danger from Moriarty or the weather prevented it, Sherlock would take Sheridan outside, because he recalled on Google that children were supposed to have fresh air and exercise.

As far as Sherlock was concerned, it didn't matter where they went. They would go down a street, to a shop, a park, or restaurant. The location wasn't important. What was important was nurturing Sheridan's growing skills at observation and deduction.

And she was learning rather quickly.

Lately, Sheridan had started to teach herself how to separate her ability to read emotions from her ability to deduce facts. Through the process of trial and error, Sheridan discovered that when she separated herself from her emotions and her ability to read the emotions of others, then her deductive powers were easier to focus on. She was able to deduce more facts about a person.

Whenever Sheridan attempted to use both abilities at the same time, she found she had limited success.

Sherlock was troubled by this development, even though he had the sense not to let Sheridan know.

He knew now that Mycroft was correct, that emotions were indeed a liability. That was why it was a good thing Sherlock was a high-functioning sociopath. He wouldn't be able to be as successful on his cases if he was impeded by such trivial things as emotions and love. His father had been cold toward Sherlock, often berating him for not being more like Mycroft.

So Sherlock deliberately locked away his feelings into the deepest room of his memory palace, so that he could function.

But that didn't mean he wanted his daughter to grow up to be like him.

It was already bad enough that he was thrust into the role of fatherhood on such short notice. He didn't have the first clue on how to be a father. His own father was abusive and emotionally withdrawn.

So Sherlock knew that he didn't want to emulate his father.

Nor did he want Sheridan to become a sociopath like him.

For one thing, she had already been raised to embrace her emotions by her mother. Granted, Sherlock could teach Sheridan to not rely on sentiment, but he was reluctant to do it.

She wasn't strong enough for it.

After much contemplation, Sherlock decided that the best course of action would be to put himself in John's shoes and make decisions that John himself would make. He hoped that by doing so, Sheri would have a semi-normal upbringing.

And now here she was, slowly becoming more and more like Sherlock.

It was a terrifying thought.

And the worst of it was that Sheridan made no secret that she loved Sherlock, for all his coolness and odd mannerisms.

The way she listened to him, accepted what he said without qualms, the way she wanted to know more about what he did, how he solved crimes and such.

It was very uncomfortable for Sherlock, who was not used to children. Much less a child who adored him without reservation.

Sherlock wished many times over the last year that he could have called John to ask for advice. John had an instinct about these things, even though he wasn't a father himself. John would know what to do! He would be able to answer Sherlock's questions.

John, of all people, would make sure that Sheridan didn't become another freak, just like Sherlock.

But Sherlock was realistic. That was why he swore off emotions. They were a chemical reaction for the losing side. They got in his way and clouded his judgment.

That was why he always resisted the urge to call John. He just couldn't risk it. Not if he wanted John to stay alive.

And knowing how John would react if he learned Sherlock lied to him…

But recriminations about Sherlock's actions would have to come later. Right now, Sherlock had to focus on the task at hand.

Sherlock's thoughts now drifted back to the current problem; how to deal with Moriarty. Earlier, just before they left to board the plane for London, Sherlock gave his daughter an untraceable cell phone and had her call John to give him the clue about how Moriarty had accessed the CCTV system.

Later today, Sherlock was going to check with his source to find out if Mycroft now knew who the traitor was within the Government.

Now that Mycroft was being lead in the right direction, he would work on getting back control of his precious little surveillance system, leaving Sherlock free to focus on how to take out Moriarty's last remaining lieutenant, Colonel Sebastian Moran, and the other two snipers. Then, that left Moriarty himself.

And Sherlock would personally enjoy putting Moriarty through his own little version of "Reichenbach."

He couldn't burn Moriarty's heart out of his chest, but he could do the next best thing.

One thing was absolutely essential. Moriarty could not be allowed to escape, because Sheri's life and John's life would always be at risk. And they deserved better than that!

So Sherlock was going to do whatever it took to ensure that Moriarty would never bother either of them again.

Sherlock's own life was of secondary importance.

"It is good to see you in London again, Mr. McGee."

Sherlock nodded slightly as he continued to walk around the path going through Hyde Park. As always, he took great care in disguising his appearance, choosing to wear a light blonde wig, a realistic beard of the same color, jeans, and a comfortable coat. He also wore a black armband on his sleeve, so that his contact in London would be able to approach him. To those around him, Sherlock was simply another resident enjoying the exercise and touch of nature that Hyde Park had to offer.

Now that he was back in London, he couldn't afford to be recognized by anyone.

"You are my contact." Sherlock said calmly, finally meeting his source face-to-face.

The woman smiled. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder, weak and weary, upon many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore."

Sherlock nodded affirmation of the password, which was the opening line from the poem "The Raven."

Danielle's idea, of course.

"Why Ms. Morray insisted on such redundant poetry is incomprehensible to me!" Sherlock whined.

The woman smirked and silently handed him a newspaper. Hidden in the paper was a folder. She lowered her voice as they began walking together. "I got the information you requested. I have kept notes of everything that has happened after my uncle contacted me. The young man who is assisting your brother is an American named Chase Douglas. He is a hacker who is hired by various companies to test their security systems."

"Did they finally discover the traitor in Mycroft's ranks?" Sherlock asked as he continued to walk down the pavement that wound through the park, glancing aimlessly at the bare, skeleton-like trees and the dark clouds hanging ominously above.

"They did. And he has been neutralized. But Mycroft still needs Moriarty's password in order to break into his system and take control of the CCTV system." The woman affirmed.

"How about the Satanic Slasher?" Sherlock asked.

The contact snorted humorlessly. "Scotland Yard is no closer to finding them than they were the day this whole thing started!" The woman said with contempt. "There are rumors, of course, but Lestrade believes that the Slasher may be working for Moriarty!"

"For once, he is correct. A far cry from his usual incompetence." Sherlock noted quietly.

Sherlock and the young woman continued to walk on for a few minutes before Sherlock finally asked the question that had plagued his mind for almost eighteen months. "How is John?"

The woman sighed. She foresaw this question in advance. "He's doing alright, I guess. The woman who is with him, Mary Morstan, has moved into the same building, although she lives in 221 C, while John stays in 221 B. They are also engaged to be married, just like you predicted. Anyway, John still works part-time at Anthuster Family Clinic, but he goes to all the debriefing meetings. He hasn't missed one since this all started. He has also helped the Yard on a few cases."

"Has he moved on? Has he finally forgotten me?" Sherlock asked, his voice remarkably calm, despite the tightness he felt in his chest.

"No." The woman said bluntly. It was not in her nature to gloss over the truth. "He still goes to visit your grave every week, without fail. And he still relies on a cane to get around."

Sherlock sighed, feeling relief mixed with irritation. "You would think he would move on by now! Get on with his life!"

The young woman turned to glare at Sherlock. "You really think it is that easy? That people just get over someone's death? Lestrade finds himself still calling your cell phone! Mycroft has probably lost about twenty pounds since all of this has started! Even Donovan has become obsessed with tracking down Moriarty's men! So why should John be any different? Why should anyone?"

"Mycroft has lost weight?" Sherlock asked, surprised.

The woman rolled her eyes. "If he keeps this up, he may be asking to borrow some of your clothes this time next year." The woman took in Sherlock's lanky frame and shook her head sadly. "Although from the looks of things, you may have surpassed him in amount of pounds lost over the last year or so."

Sherlock didn't bother replying. The idea of his brother, Mycroft, actually mourning his passing was unexpected, for some reason.

Did his brother really miss him that much?

"Who do they think is behind the dismantlement of Moriarty's empire?" Sherlock finally asked.

"So far, all clues point to Danielle Morray, just as we planned." The woman related. "The others believe it, even though Mycroft still has his doubts."

"But no one suspects the truth." Sherlock stated flatly.

The woman smiled. "No one! The only ones who have even mentioned the possibility of you being alive are several people on that Fan Fiction site that Chase is a member of. And even then, most of it is just wishful thinking."

"Good! Then we need to keep it that way." Sherlock said. "At least until Moriarty has been dealt with."

The informant nodded. "So what do you need me to do?"

Sherlock smiled. "Moriarty has a new game. He plans to implement it in a few days. On November 4th. We must not let him carry it out. We need to keep distracting him, to make him nervous. Then he will make a mistake."

The woman smirked. "So we need to leave a message for him?"

Sherlock nodded, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "It is the only way."

"So what do I need to get for you?"

"I need several cans of spray paint. Red, preferably." Sherlock ordered. "I also made a list of these materials. Bring them here, tomorrow at this time, and I will pick them up." Quietly, Sherlock handed his ally a piece of paper. "Once you are done, destroy the note. Do not use any method of payment that can be traced to you. And buy the items from several different places, not all at the same store, even if the store has everything I need."

The woman nodded as the two continued to make their way around the park, the dead leaves crunching under their feet as the wind cut through their coats, chilling them. "You will have them by tomorrow." She promised.

"I will also need you to keep me informed about any new developments, either from the Yard or from my brother."

The informant nodded. "And the child? Ms. Morray's daughter? Is she safe?"

"She's safe." Sherlock affirmed stoically. He looked ahead to a small grouping of trees several meters away. "She's over there. The blonde child holding several leaves in her hand."

The woman scanned the area until her eyes came to rest on a little girl with shoulder length blonde hair, wearing a black leather coat and a rich purple scarf. She was currently crouched under a maple tree near the path they were walking, holding up two leaves for examination before tossing one away and putting the other one in a plastic bag.

The woman grinned. She was one of the few so far who was trusted with the secret of Sheridan's parentage. "What is she doing?"

"Collecting leaves for a science experiment. She is going to learn how to separate chlorophyll from other leaf pigments and identify what type of tree they came from."

The woman smirked before her expression became serious again. "Are you planning to use her to lure Moriarty out into the open?" The informant asked curiously.

Sherlock frowned. He had already considered that. "No! There is too much risk involved." Sherlock replied shortly. "Just do as I ask, and soon Moriarty will be at our mercy."

"I can do that." The woman said, her face softening. "I owe you that much for what you did for me."

"There is no need for gratitude. I did what I had to do." Sherlock grunted.

"I know." The woman replied. "And that is why I am helping you. Because it is something I need to do, too."

Glancing around quickly to assure herself that no one was watching, she turned and headed toward one of the park's benches. "I'll see you tomorrow." She promised before walking away, disappearing into a group of people headed in the opposite direction.

Sherlock watched her go before finally going to where Sheridan was waiting, anxious to show the specimens she had collected.

Author's Note: Not much going on in this chapter. I hope I did a realistic job with Sheridan. I mean, it's so hard to remember what it is like being an eight year old girl. So how do you protray an eight year old who is (in many ways) a genius? And who has been living with Sherlock for the last year?

I hope I protrayed Sherlock realistically enough too. He has certainly changed over the last eighteen months, even though he is still in denial and keeps telling himself he doesn't care, when it is so obvious that he does. And his approach to raising Sheridan was to ask himself WWJD (what would John do?) Pretty clever of him, if you ask me.

Now we know that Sherlock has a spy of his own in Mycroft's group. Who is she?

Why does Sherlock need red paint for?

And why was Sherlock so happy about the prospect of the Yarders meeting "Abby?" Why did he find the situation funny? And what is Abby? A doll? A pet? A severed head? (with Sherlock's child, who knows, right?)

Disclaimer: I don't own "Sherlock." However, I will gladly lead a revolution to make them air the episodes for Series 3 by the end of next year! WHO'S WITH ME?

Sebastian Moran (runs in with a high-powered rifle complete with night vision scope)-Where are you, Peaceful Defender!

Peaceful Defender (waves from her chair)-Over here! Where I have always been! Sitting in my chair and talking to characters who don't exist! Is that a gun in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?

Sebastian Moran (points gun at Peaceful Defender's head)-I'm going to kill you!

Peaceful Defender (sighs)-What have I done this time? And stop pointing a gun at everyone you see! You know, most people actually get a hobby or something!

Sebastian Moran-I want you to tell me the names of the people who assaulted James in the cemetery!

Peaceful Defender-What! Why!

Sebastian Moran-One of them punched him so hard that he's cracking up!

Peaceful Defender (eyebrows raised)-And the stuff before? That's just him acting like he normally does?

Sebastian Moran (growling)-I know you won't tell me where Danielle Morray is, but you will tell me where they are!

Peaceful Defender-Uh, why?

Sebastian Moran-BECAUSE ONE OF THEM HIT HIM SO HARD THAT EVER SINCE THEN HE'S BEEN GOING AROUND WEARING LADIES' UNDERWEAR!

Peaceful Defender (giggling)-You have got to be kidding me!

Sebastian Moran (holds up picture of Moriarty wearing a pink bra)-DOES IT LOOK LIKE I AM KIDDING?

Peaceful Defender (grinning)-Just out of curiousity, was he poising for that picture, or were you stalking him?

Sebastian Moran-Uh...it's none of your business!

Peaceful Defender-Well, I'm waiting anxiously for my next review. So while I'm waiting, I'll plan on what will happen to you in the next few chapters!

Sebastian Moran (frowns)-So you are being petty because I pointed a gun at you!

Peaceful Defender-No! I am doing it because you want to point that gun on several of my reviewers!

Sebastian Moran-I wish I could kill you!

Peaceful Defender (shrugs)-Get in line!