"Remember, Mum loves you," a voice whispered into the ear of Darlene Ire as she stood in her shiny new Mary Janes and watched as her mother left the white-washed living room. She rushed to the large window and placed one hand against the glass, wishing she could touch her mother's crisp dress and smell the beautiful fragrance that always lingered around her chestnut hair. Before her mother stepped into the cab, she turned back towards the house and gave Darlene a long glance. She had never been the openly affectionate type, but the look was a solemn one that held unspoken compassion towards the young girl. Their secretary closed the door behind her and both watched the black cab disappear into the gloomy London day.

Darlene ventured to the Victorian back room where her uncle waited. She had always been afraid of his voice, so low and raspy. It seemed unlikely that such a scratchy voice could come out of such a young man, but she knew better than to question him. He sat in his usual navy suit and white button down shirt, dark hair pushed back and matching navy scarf wrapped around his neck. His hands were spread open on his knees and his dark eyes cast down between his feet. She remained standing in the frame of the hallway before he motioned for her to come in without ever looking up. He rarely spoke due to his voice, but still remained intimidating to her, always composed and accompanied by his loyal unnamed companion. The man may have had a name, but Darlene never heard it and never had to address him so she found it useless to ask. He was a tall, lanky man with dirty blonde hair pushed to one side and small grey eyes. As she walked to her uncle, long brown curls tapping against her lower back, she found herself stuck between the two men. Fear built up in her small stomach as she waited for her uncle to croak out the plans for her. The sitting man cleared his throat with a long hollow cough and shifted his eyes to Darlene's shining shoes. He knew her mother had done well to prepare her; a smirk crept across his clean face as he examined the velvet red dress and white collar she wore. Clever, darling. Very clever, he thought to himself. Darlene glanced nervously between her uncle and his companion, anticipating one of them to speak. The blonde man spoke first. "Young Miss, your uncle has called for you a cab. It shall arrive very shortly, completely paid for and ready with directions to your destination." His voice was uninterested with a handsome Scottish twang to it. She found herself anxious to hear him speak some more. What was it about that voice, that hollow face and small eyes, that made her long for his attention? Of course there was nothing romantic about her longing, but she wanted some sort of paternal relationship with him? Anything was better than the lack of attention Uncle showed her. He was always away on business, and yet he always praised her when he was around and told her how great she will be one day. Darlene shuddered at the memory of Uncle's scratchy voice so close to her ear...

"You are going..." Uncle began in a difficult tone. The words came out slowly and incomprehensibly, making Darlene long for him to quicken his pace or shorten his note. Before he continued, he put his arm around her tiny waist and sat her on his knee. The suit was crisp and cold, just like him."You're helping Mummy and Uncle...very much. Do you know...that?" His breath smelt like peppermint and made the hair on her neck stand up with a little shiver. She did her best to smile and answered, "Yes, sir. Mum told me so." A little spring of happiness came upon as she thought of making her mother happy. Mum gave her everything she asked for, but sometimes Darlene wondered if she actually enjoyed her own daughter. She shook the sadness away before it consumed her little mind and stood up straight. "You'll see, Uncle. I'll be the best!" A little giggle slipped out and she forgot all about her uncle's frightening appearance; now it was her turn to take charge. He smiled at his confident niece, a smile she had never seen except during a few rare phone calls. "That's my girl," he pushed out in a hoarse voice ending in a coughing fit. Darlene stepped back and out of his way. She gripped the sides of her dress frantically and forced herself to remain still again. He continued to wheeze, long hollow coughs bellowing into his closed fist and his eyes shut tight to the point of tears. The companion came over and took her to the door with a long arm reaching down to her opposite shoulder. "The cab is here, young Miss." Darlene patted her stomach and led herself to the black car.

The doorbell rang with a long dinggg! through Mrs. Hudson's lower apartment. Her spidery hands were dipped in dish water as she scrubbed off the boys' dinner. "John! Can you be a dear and get the door for me? I'm sure it's for you or Sherlock anyway!" She began shaking her head and picking off the grease stuck in the middle of a plate. "Always at ungodly hours of the night, these boys. How can an old woman get anything done when the darn door is always ringing!" she muttered to herself in her sweet English voice. From outside her door she could hear John slowly descending the stairs, his limp returning once again, and Sherlock playing his violin. The song sounded familiar, but it held a certain improvisation in it's collection of notes; he always had a knack for composition during hiatus' from work. "I've got it, Mrs. Hudson," John called from the hallway. She peered out at him, her motherly instinct kicking in, and checked his appearance. The blonde hair he wore so childishly was a bit unkept, but not completely uncared for, pants wrinkled only at the left knee, dirty shirt crinkled at the neck, and no shoes. He glanced back at her with a smile before opening the door. The bags under his eyes showed the stress Sherlock's return was still putting on him, and the small lips were still a bit pale. She worried for him. "Alright, dear," was all she could return and a half smile was all she could summon up upon her pink lips.

John Watson grasped the knob with a sigh. Why so late? There was never a new case after eight o'clock, at least not without a forewarning or appointment. He closed his eyes annoyed and opened the door. "I'm sorry, but we can't help..." His voice seemed to trail off into the darkness of Baker Street with no recipient. He continued to strain his eyes and glance down both ways of the street. I don't have time for these pranks..., he thought to himself. "Why do you have a cane?" The small voice caught John off guard. He took an involuntarily step back and stopped. Down in front of him at around the height of his abdominal stood Darlene Ire. Her big green eyes sparkled up at him with fascination and a hint of mischief and she flashed her white pearls as she spoke. "Hi!" The smile haunted and startled him. He found himself slowly moving backwards back into the hallway calling for Mrs. Hudson. "I need some help here, Mrs. Hudson," he beckoned in a shakey tone. While he looked back into the hallway, Darlene snuck between his right leg and his cane and stood in Mrs. Hudson's doorframe. The little old woman emerged from her kitchen drying her hands with a red rag when she spotted the little girl. Her eyes grew large and her mouth dropped open into an 'o'. Darlene smiled brightly at Mrs. Hudson then turned her attention towards the staircase and followed the sweet violin concerto sounds. "What's that noise? It sounds pretty!" her little voice exclaimed. John was still dumbfounded when he closed the door and approached Darlene, answering, "That's..uh.." But his explanation was in vain, she was already halfway up the steps when she stopped. "Who are you, deary?" Mrs. Hudson inquired sweetly, taking her place next to John at the bottom of the staircase. Darlene spun around, her dress making a perfect circle around her shins and her brown curls landing in front of her shoulder. "I'm Sherlock's daughter!"