I have one last plot hurdle and then it's all smooth sailing. We're stopping at chapter thirty. Promise.

this story is post- Fall and His Last Vow.

Guest who said Summer of Swans is a third grade book - I'm thinking of the one by Betsy Byars, about a ninth grader. Maybe you have the wrong story? :/

YOU GUYS I wrote the Duchess of Cambridge a letter and she wrote back. It has the Kensington Palace seal and everything. Squeeeee!

Lissie raced up the staircase at 221B, giving Ms. Hudson a hug and looking for Sherlock.

"Don't tell me, he's out again."

"Yes, love, but he'll be in in a minute. How's the first week back been? How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling fine. It's nice to see all the girls again. We stayed up very late talking the fist night I was back!"

"Good. You deserve to be happy, love. Would you bring that box at the bottom of the stairs up to me? It's in the front hall, delivery man brought it-"

"Yes, of course."

Lissie stopped in the hall when she heard a voice outside, angrily loud. It took her a moment to realize the voice was someone outside. "I comforted him! The freak! Didn't I tell you one day there'd be a body laying dead on account of him? I felt sorry for him. I'm an idiot." She recognized Donovan' s voice.

A sharp knocking startled her. Donovan and whoever was with her must be standing on the other side of the door.

"Police, open up."

Police? What on earth? Wasn't Donovan a yarder? She peered through the peephole and saw three policemen, Donovan, and Lestrade.

She opened the door hesitantly. "Hello Detective Inspector, Sgt. Donovan-"

Lestrade cut her off. "Where's Sherlock?"

"I'm not sure, I just got in. Ms. Hudson!"

The older woman slipped in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. "He's meeting a client at Heathrow. Is something wrong, dears?"

Lestrade looked uncomfortable. One of the younger bobbies opened his mouth and closed it.

Donovan answered, "Mr. Holmes is wanted for homicide."

"What?" Lissie asked, even though she clearly understood the words. "Why would he murder someone?" What she truly meant was, how would he get caught, but there was no need to say that to Lestrade.

"He's a psychopath, that's why," Donovan said coolly. "A good actor though, I'll give him that. I truly felt sorry for him when you were hurt."

Ms. Hudson sat down in a chair.

"Do you even have any proof?" Lissie glared.

"The figure leaving the scene was caught on camera. It matches Sherlock quite well. Hairs of his were found, and he has ties to the victim."

"But- how does he know the victim?" Ms. Hudson ventured

"Drugs," Donovan said before Lestrade could stop her. Obviously she was regretting her earlier kindness to the Holmeses. "Its a simple case of a drug deal gone bad, we see this a lot."

"No. Sherlock' s clean, and he wouldn't murder someone."

Lestrade winced. "Miss Holmes, I've known Sherlock a bit longer than you. He can-"

She pushed past them all, running outside. Gotta find Sherlock. Need to warn him. He can solve this. He's not a murderer.

The youngest police officer caught up to her and grabbed her arm firmly. "I'm sorry, but we need you for questioning."

"You're not sorry," she said turning her face away and reluctantly following him.

The juvenile interrogation room was falsely cheerful, a bright yellow with smiling animals painted on two walls.

"Miss Holmes," the woman snapped her gum, "you've known the defendant how long?"

"He's my father!"

"Yes, but you met him six months ago."

"Why are you asking if you know the answer?"

"Miss Holmes, cooperation is best. Now, when did you last hear from Sherlock?"

"I texted him Tuesday about my maths final- I assume you've already checked my phone."

"Miss Holmes. Now, you have never heard Sherlock mention the victim?"

"I hardly talk to him. We're trying, but our relationship is a little awkward."

The woman leaned forward as if she'd hit upon a clue. "And why is that?"

"I don't know. Maybe that I've went fifteen years without knowing him, or that he's cold, or that-"

She stopped for breath, and the woman asked, "Does Sherlock care for you? I understand Social Services was coming for a home visit tomorrow?"

"Yes, he'd applied for guardianship."

The woman stopped to shuffle through some paperwork, and Lissie took the opportunity to dash away righteous tears.

It was true she did not know Sherlock as well as she could. Why, just the other day a government survey a teacher had handed out had asked 'Do either of your guardians/parents smoke?' and she'd had no idea. She didn't know if he had a drug history, or anything about his parents.

But Sherlock wasn't a druggie, or a murder. It hadn't been an act at the grave and at Moriarty's,or had it? According to John, Sherlock had once faked his own death, and given no sign he was alive for two years.

The woman cleared her throat. "I'll be bringing you to a foster home, where you'll stay the duration of this...situation."

"Can I go back to Sherlock' s flat to get my things?"

"No."

"What about my clothes at my other home? The one I inherit when I reach my majority?"

"We'll see. For now, please just follow me."

Lissie felt like punching a wall, but she figured she'd probably just hurt her hand. Instead, she obediently followed the woman down a stark white hall, missing already the false cheerfulness of the juvenile area.

"Miss, when will I see my father again?"

"I really don't know. If they have a sufficient case against him, it will be a long while."

"Do the police currently have him?"

"Yes, he's in this building."

"Can I say goodbye now?"

"No."

Lissie tasted blood and realized she had bitten through her lip. "I want to see my father," she said coldly, knowing this was her only chance to find out if this was an elaborate ruse for a case or the real deal.

Suddenly she saw Sherlock, walking between two police officers in the open area below where she stood. She dashed down an escalator while the horrid woman screamed at her to come back.

"Sherlock!" Did you do it?

He turned, barely, and gave her a deducting look. Was it pity in his expression? Love? Sympathy?

The police officers hurried him onward,Sherlock disappearing down a dark hall.

Don't leave me here, she wanted to cry. You said you wanted me.

"My mum's dead and my dad's in prison," she said quietly, experimentally. It certainly had a shock factor.

The woman caught up to her, and Lissie allowed herself to be led to a car.

"Dear, we're so glad to meet you," the young woman enthused. Her smiling husband nodded.

Thesewere Lissie's new foster parents. She knew they were probably perfectly nice individuals, but the sympathy in their eyes, the overly tender words...everything reminded her more of her situation.

"I thought we'd shop for a few essentials, we can get the rest tomorrow. Being prepared to get kids at moments notice, we keep a gender-neutral bedroom ready."

"Thank you for everything." Sherlock , why ?!

She was furious with Sherlock, the police, Lestrade... what could she do? Where could she go? There was nothing to do but stick it out or run, and she had nowhere to run to.

Mum and Sherlock had both left her. She lay on the floor and held herself, shaking, shattering.