A/N: Hey there! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! They really help me find the motivation to keep going with this story. Sad to say, the flashback in this one is quite short, but I think you'll still enjoy it.

Chapter 21: Possession

As expected, Ceridwen came home to London for the summer. Everyone was delighted to see her, particularly Dean, who had been having quite a rough time over the past few months, much as she had. He rushed up to her as she stepped across the threshold at 221B and caused her to drop her bags by giving her a bear hug that lifted her off the ground and spun her around.

"Welcome home!" he exclaimed. Ceridwen made a slightly hysterical noise at his actions and he laughed, set her back on her feet. Quickly, he noticed the glare Mr. Holmes was giving him. "Right, sorry. I got a bit carried away. I'll get your bags for you." The young blond man bowed his head, blushing as he grabbed the luggage Ceridwen had dropped.

"It's alright, Dean. It's good to be home." The three trooped up the stairs to the flat. Stepping into the sitting room, Ceridwen inhaled deeply and smiled. The familiar scent of old wood, books, and coffee with undertones of formaldehyde was the smell of home.

"Ceridwen, there's a homecoming gift for you waiting in your room." Sherlock announced and without further delay, the young woman dashed up the stairs to her bedroom. The consulting detective couldn't help but smirk at this display of the remnants of the child in Ceridwen. Quite frankly, he was a little surprised that any of it was still there. She'd lost so much of her innocence so early in life that it was a wonder to him.

Up in her room, Ceridwen was frowning as she searched for her gift. Then out from under her bed came a gray striped kitten. It padded toward her and rubbed itself against her leg affectionately as if it instantly recognized her as its owner. A grin spread across her features and she picked the little fur ball up. It, or rather he, squirmed at first, but began to purr when Ceridwen stroked his pelt.

"John pointed me towards some research that suggested that victims of severe emotional trauma have been shown to benefit greatly from the companionship of a pet. You wouldn't remember Toby the Cat, as he died not long after you were born, but while you and he both lived in 221B, you got on very well. I was certain you are more fond of felines than canines and I can see that I was correct." Sherlock commented when his daughter came back into the sitting room with her kitten.

"Does he have a name?" she asked.

"I assumed you would prefer to bestow a name yourself."

"I shall have to think on it then." She set the kitten on the floor and he instantly hopped up onto the sofa where Dean was sitting. He crawled onto the young man's lap and mewed at him.

"Adorable little thing, isn't he?" Both Holmeses made an (identical) face at this comment. They had always had a disdain for labeling anything as adorable without the use of sarcasm. Dean rolled his before scratching the kitten behind the ears. "Dad said you and he had a dog named Gladstone for a little while."

"Yes. Unfortunately, he was already old when John got him, so his time with us was rather short. After the Baskerville case, we agreed that he wouldn't have a replacement." Sherlock explained.

The conversation ended when Ceridwen sat down at the piano and began to play. The feeling of the keys under her fingers was one she had missed greatly. The kitten seemed to delight in the music and abandoned Dean to curled up under the piano bench. Once Ceridwen was done with the piece she had been playing, the blond clapped politely and she smiled.

"I wrote that one recently." she said and Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. The tune had been soft and sweet and full of joy and that made him suspicious. Ceridwen hadn't played anything like that in a long while. "Oh, I should tell you Allen is planning to come to London to visit me in a few weeks. Please don't feel compelled to list all of his flaws when you meet him." Ah, there it was. That music existed because Ceridwen was clearly in love. There was no point in her denying it any longer. When Dean was gone, Sherlock planned to have a little talk with her about it.

"Allen?" Dean piped up with a frown.

"A bloke she fancies at Oxford." Sherlock answered.

"A friend I met at Oxford." Ceridwen corrected, sending a death glare at her father. Dean suddenly looked a little pale. "I'm sure you'll get on really well, Dean. In addition to being highly intelligent, he's kind and considerate, unlike some people." She directed the last part of her statement at Sherlock, who was wearing an amused grin. Unfortunately, her words only served to disturb the blond man further. "Are you alright? You look ill?"

"No, I'm...I'm alright. I should be getting home now. It's lovely to see you again, CJ." With that, Dean left and the young woman watched him go with a confused expression.

"Right. Allen Cormick. You fancy him. Stop denying it." Sherlock spoke up once they heard the front door close. Ceridwen turned a rosy shade of pink and glowered at him.

"How many times-"

"Honestly, do you think I'm deaf and blind? You speak of him as if he's a saint. You get flushed when I mention him. You looked overly excited when you told us he would be coming to London. You specifically said he was doing so to see you. That indicates your hope that you are someone very special to him. You chose to say all of this after finishing a piece positively dripping with romance, a clear sign that you were thinking of Allen while you played." the detective interrupted his daughter to deduce. She gaped at him for a moment before replying.

"So what?"

"I look forward to meeting the boy." He only had two weeks to wait.

Today, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had attended a wedding. No one who knew them would have thought it would be the detective and not the doctor who was the groom. Equally as astounding was that Molly Hooper (now Holmes), the quiet pathologist who used to let Sherlock boss her around, was the bride.

As the two men (both in suits- though still no tie on Sherlock) sat at a table at the reception, watching their friends and family dance and drinking expensive champagne, they reflected on how such an unforeseeable event like this had come to pass.

"Dear God. We're both married. Married, Sherlock, and I've got a kid now to boot. How did this happen? It seems like only yesterday that I couldn't keep a girlfriend and you ignored anyone who showed an interest in you. Blimey." John commented with a laugh.

"I always knew your settling down was inevitable, but I admittedly never thought it would happen to me as well." Sherlock replied, his eyes seeking out his new wife. He spotted her dancing with Lestrade. John watched in deep amusement as his best friend shot up from his seat and strode over to disrupt them.

"Still a five year old. A jealous, possessive five year old." the doctor muttered between his laughter.

Sherlock Holmes watched as his daughter bounded down the stairs upon seeing a cab pull up to 221B. She was wearing a dark purple silk blouse that made her very modestly sized chest seem a little more ample. He knew she was unaware of this fact and he saw no reason to enlighten her, even if he did disapprove of the garment (he'd caught young men admiring it many times). He also noticed that she was using a different scented shampoo. He had gotten a strong whiff of mangos when she dashed past him on her way to the stairs.

The detective listened intently as the front door opened and Ceridwen greeted their guest. She sounded vaguely like Molly in the cheerful manner in which she welcomed Allen Cormick. A deep male voice returned the greeting and Ceridwen made a surprised noise that cause her father to twitch rather violently. Her laughter was muffled and Sherlock relaxed. It was just an impromptu bear hug by the sound of it.

A moment later, two sets of feet could be heard coming up the stairs and there he was, Allen Cormick standing next to Ceridwen, looking happy and excited. Sherlock immediately conducted a thorough scan of his person.

Hair: blond, slightly long and wavy, combed this morning. Face: hazel eyes, chiseled facial features, strong jawline, shaved this morning, frequently smiles. Build: tall, athletic, swimmer...and fencer. Clothing: dark gray waistcoat over white shirt and black tie, sleeves rolled up, black jeans, black trainers, all inexpensive, wants to look presentable but casual, seeking approval, no crumbs or stains to indicate slovenly eating habits, well put together. Timex watch on left wrist, therefore right handed. Modest clothing, watch brand and style evidence of little concern for the acquisition of wealth beyond necessity. Not moocher. No signs of illness or illicit drug use. Takes antidepressants, must have bonded with Ceridwen through empathy. Body language attentive and curious, slightly nervous, but no indication of lust towards Ceridwen. Aware that he is being deduced, but has no problem with it. Intelligent. Conclusion: Allen Cormick is worthy of consideration but not trust.

Sherlock stood and approached the young man, holding out his hand for him to shake. Allen took it, looking slightly relieved.

"Hi, I'm Allen Cormick. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes." Just then, Mrs. Hudson appeared out of the kitchen looking rather curious.

"Allen, this is Mrs. Hudson, the landlady." Ceridwen put in and the old woman beamed.

"Hello, dear. Would you like a cuppa? I was just about to put the kettle on."

"That would be lovely, Mrs. Hudson, thank you." Allen answered softly. Before the landlady (not the housekeeper) disappeared back into the kitchen, Sherlock caught her exchanging conspiratorial glances with Ceridwen. "This is a very nice flat you have here. My mother wouldn't like it, though. Too many books. No tacky furniture. She has this crazy belief that the only book worth reading is the Bible. I have to lock my bedroom door when I'm away so she won't try to throw all my stuff out and paint the walls pastel pink."

"What sort of things do you read, Mr. Cormick?" Sherlock asked, gesturing for the blond to have a seat in the chair opposite him.

"I'm interested in anthropology and biology, so I've got a lot of books and scholarly journals on those subjects with a few sci-fi novels thrown in. I see you like to be well read in a lot of subjects, but particularly crime." Allen replied as he sat down.

"Yes, good." Before Sherlock could interrogate the young man further, his phone went off and he pulled it out of his pocket to answer it. "Sherlock Holmes...yes...oh, well in that case, I'll be right there...yes, one moment. Ceridwen, Lestrade's got a case for me. It's at least a seven. He wants to know if you'll be wanting to tag along."

"Of course!" the raven haired woman responded, perking up. Apparently Lestrade had heard her because her father's attention seemed to be focused on listening to the voice in his phone again. Suddenly, the consulting detective frowned deeply and his eyes went wide.

"You are not to participate in this one." he said gravely upon hanging up his phone.

"What?! Why not?!" Ceridwen shot back incredulously.

"Because it looks like we have a Ripper on our hands and the Chief Inspector and I agree that the danger for you would be too great."

"But-"

"No." Sherlock snapped.

"Mr. Holmes, could she do it if I came with and never left her side for a second? She clearly really wants to work on this case." Allen put in shyly. The older man stood up as his eyes narrowed at him.

"How much experience do you have with mutilated bodies, Mr. Cormick?"

"Well, the bodies of animals hit by cars never bothered me, but I imagine the horribly disfigured corpses of women are something very different."

"Are you any good with a gun?"

"My aunt was in the army. She made sure I learned. I'm a pretty good shot, I suppose."

"Very well. You and Dean Watson will look after Ceridwen. However, let me be clear that I give permission cautiously and the only field work you'll be doing is one visit to the crime scene. After that, you will either be in the lab at Bart's or here at Baker Street. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." the two young people replied in unison. Ceridwen like she might start skipping with joy as she and Allen followed Sherlock out of the flat.

The crime scene was an alleyway and when the three arrived, it was swarming with police. John and Dean were standing off to the side, waiting for them. The junior Watson scowled at Allen upon seeing him.

"Who's this?" he inquired testily. He didn't like how close this other blond young man was standing to Ceridwen.

"This is Allen Cormick. Allen, this is Dean Watson. You are to be my security detail on this case." Allen gave an awkward wave and smile. Dean had nothing to say to this and simply glared. John noticed and placed his hand on his son's shoulder, looking amused.

"Oi! Body's over here!" Lestrade called to them and they were saved from further awkwardness. Their little group moved over to area the Chief Inspector had indicated and observed a horribly mutilated woman's body laying next to a skip. "The poor girl was found this morning by a pair of teenagers. I need anything you can give me. We want to catch the sick bastard who has been doing this as soon as possible." This was the third time in a month that they'd found something like this. Now the Yard was desperate for Sherlock's help. The woman had long, straight black hair and tan skin. Her clothes were torn and stained with blood. The Holmeses both knelt down next to her to get a better look. Allen wore a slightly disturbed expression as he stared at the body.

"How can she look at the corpse of another young woman so casually?" he muttered.

"It's a Holmes thing. They shut down their emotions when they're working. When they look at a body, they don't see a person, they see a puzzle." Dean explained matter of factly. It did not have the effect of horror that he'd been aiming for. Instead, Allen looked intrigued.

"No wonder they're so good at what they do."

"John, what sort of weapon would you say made those lacerations?" Sherlock suddenly said, distracting them from the awkward conversation.

"Looks like a small blade. Pocket knife?"

"Yes, a Swiss army knife to be exact. Whoever's doing this isn't a common street criminal. If he was, he'd have used a switch blade, which is much longer and sharper, and a Swiss army knife wouldn't be in his budget. At least not one good enough to inflict this kind of damage. We're looking for a man with a comfortable income and smallish hands."

"Smallish hands?" Lestrade asked, looking confused. At this, Sherlock glanced at Ceridwen, as if to say 'your turn'. The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a Swiss army that her father insisted she carry at all times. She held it out, grasping it firmly in her hand for everyone to see.

"Being female, my hands are much smaller than a man's usually are. This makes it much easier for me to make controlled, precise movements with the blade." she explained. "John, why don't you hold it." She passed the Swiss army knife to the doctor and it immediately became clear what she was on about. "I imagine you'd have a lot of difficulty making those marks on anything, let alone a body."

"Yes." John responded tersely before handing the item back to Ceridwen.

"Dean, you want to be a profiler. Can you tell us anything?" the consulting detective spoke up and Dean nearly jumped with surprise. He hadn't expected to be called upon.

"Well, er, the man behind these murders views his work as art, that much is clear. He made no attempt hide the body, so he wants attention."

"Good. You're just missing one big detail. He doesn't just want attention, he wants Scotland Yard's attention. It's a threat. The last two victims were connected with the Yard in some capacity. I guarantee that when this one is identified, the same will be true of her." His words were met with dead silence. Everyone who had heard was looking straight at Ceridwen.

"Allen, Dean, take her home and don't leave her until I get there." Sherlock ordered. The young woman opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. "You are off the case. No exceptions. Go home. Now." Ceridwen glared angrily at him, but still allowed her friends to guide her away. Sherlock felt guilt in his gut as he watched her go, the hurt, dejected look in her eyes burned into his brain. He tried to bury the feeling, knowing that he'd only done what was necessary.

"It's not fair!" Ceridwen seethed as she lay curled up on the sofa at 221B. "I know it's particularly dangerous for me, but I can handle it and he knows that!"

"CJ, it's not about whether or not you can handle it. It's about your dad not being able to handle it if something happened to you. When you two were looking at that corpse, I could tell that your dad was thinking about what if it had been you. It was in his body language. He cares about you more than anything in this world and that combined with the fact that he's at that stage in his life where he can't accept that you're now a grown woman makes for a very protective father. That's what's going on, even if he doesn't realize it himself." Dean told her as he brought her a cup of tea. She grumpily sat up and took it, not looking her friend in the eye as she did so. Before Dean could move to sit next to her, Allen was there.

"You're right, but that doesn't mean that what Mr. Holmes is doing is right." the other blond said and Dean didn't miss the look of appreciation Ceridwen flashed at the man next to her. He grimaced, but before he could say anything, his phone chimed.

"Excuse me." He took his phone out and read the text he'd been sent. It was from Sherlock Holmes and it read: 'You don't like Allen Cormick, do you? -SH'. Dean immediately replied with 'No, I don't. Why? -DW'. Only a few seconds later he got the response 'We're on the same page, then. Keep an eye on him and don't leave Ceridwen alone with him. His lack of visible flaws makes him untrustworthy. -SH'. Dean answered, smirking a little, 'I'm already on it. -DW'.

A/N: So, what do you think? Is Allen a shady character and they're right to be weary of him, or are Sherlock and Dean just being a pair of paranoiac men who need to learn to let go?