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"You don't talk much about your mother's death, correct?" The counselor's pen paused over her notepaper. She had begun questions as soon as she ducked in, with no apparent qualms about tact or delicacy.
"We do, " Lissie said, not meeting Sherlock's eyes. "In fact, he's taken me to visit her grave." There was no need explain everything to this woman.
"Excellent," the counselor beamed. "Healing visits are so important. You'd be surprised how many families don't discuss their loss. Now, Miss Holmes, you said-"
Sherlock had been studying the woman intently, and he had just deduced she was from Devonshire. However, deduction might not help this situation. He bit his lip and waited.
The counselor was still rambling, Lissie answering each question glibly.
BORED! So bored. What are those hairs from? Does she have a pet? Is that jam on her handbag? Yes, and a toddler's handprint. Hmm, clumsily made keychain with E-m-m-a on it.
"Mr. Holmes? I asked how your relationship is with Lissie?"
He had to say SOMETHING. "Does Emma not enjoy daycare? It's a shame you leave her there even when she cries and grabs you." He gave a signature smile.
She blinked. "What?"
Lissie looked stricken. She kicked him under the table.
He grimaced. Oh, I did it again. Fix it, Sherlock!
"Our mums are friends," he fibbed quickly.
"Oh-hh, okay. Anyway, what was I saying?"
"You had all your answers?"
"Thank you, yes! I'm just distracted today; so worried about Emma. She's nearly four, you know, but she hates being left."
He nodded sympathetically, willing her to leave in his head.Yes. Yes. So sorry. Run along now! Don't you have some nice nutters to evaluate?
To his charign, the woman poked around 221B, opening cupboards and checking for food. She peered in Lissie's room, and his. Thank God for Ms. Hudson. The dust that had not been touched for years was gone, and she'd sat out fresh flowers. His skull! Where had she stashed it? Hmm. Oh, the medicine cabinet.
When the counselor opened the fridge, Lissie wriggled her fingers and made a cutting motion. He grinned back, imagining if this proper woman had discovered his experiment. He reflected that he and Lissie were finally a team. They were together in this, what a wonderful feeling.
"Well," the counselor said brightly, " everything is in order if you do change your mind."
"What do you mean?" Sherlock queried, turning to Lissie. Surely she was not still angry at him. He hadn't contacted her, and he'd been too cold. But now that was changing, right? maybe-if-God- willing, he'd be an alright dad-
"The Houstons want to adopt me," she said flatly.
Sherlock looked stricken. His cheekbones rose higher as he tightened his jaw. He suddenly felt very young and very afraid. This time he was not losing Lissie to death or a madman but a well-meaning couple who knew how to show affection he could not.
"Let's talk about it," he said, for the benefit of the counselor, who smiled broadly as she announced she 'had to scoot along.'
"Talks are so healthy-" She was still talking as he ushered her out and shut the door firmly.
Miserably Lissie flopped on the couch, feeling as if she'd trampled a rose or ripped a rare painting. Maybe she shouldn't have been so friendly earlier. She should have came right out.
"Sherlock, I -"
"Do you want to live with them?" he asked with the old coolness.
"I don't know..."
He yelled so loud she jumped, pounding his palm on the table. "You have to! Answer me!"
She looked as if he'd slapped her.
He regretted his words. "Lissie, I'm sorry. I should have called you before John and Mary's. I knew the plan might backfire, and I just... made myself forget. It made it easier to withstand the...well, questioning, knowing you were safe and with a family."
"You said such nice things when I was in the hospital. But when I saw you in the station, you didn't do anything..."
"They hauled me off and anything I said was used against me. It was safest for you to let you think it was a drug bust. Safer for the police, really everyone but Yard and MI6 needed to believe it was something routine."
"They hurt you? Britain, I mean?"
He wiggled his palms, talking fast and adding asides. "When you can't explain why you have ties to public enemy number two,(one being Moriarty, obviously) then murder him so no one can question him, you become a terrorist to intelligence eyes, too. Until Mycroft got me to Eastern Europe, yes, I was treated as a terrorist."
"Mary shot you, the British Government roughed you up, and now I'm leaving. I guess I see how you feel."
"No. " He held her gaze. "I don't care if those I trust wound me, because I expect it. We all fall. It's when those who trust me lose their trust that we have problems."
"I'd better go."
"Lissie. Do you want to live with the Houstons?" He tried to maintain a casual tone. Somehow, stupidly, he could not help feeling that everything rested on her answer.