A/N: Sorry for taking a while to update! I always thought I knew a lot about Sherlock Holmes until I realized that I had the floor plan of 221b all wrong... so sorry for that, but a few days of researching a revising later, I present you with the next three chapters!! :) enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes, or Dr. John Watson, or 221b Baker Street, or anything else recongnizable.

Sometimes, being able to hide one's emotions is a very, very good thing. At least, that's certainly how it was for Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

From the eyes of Dr. Watson, Holmes was surprisingly calm for having to cope with not only the death of his brother, but also some thirteen-year-old girl who was suddenly placed in his hands. But in reality, Sherlock Holmes was having some trouble keeping himself together.

He was angry with his brother for not telling him about his niece. He was also slightly disgusted that Mycroft would have forced her into some orphanage for the first decade or so of her life. He was upset that the arrogant orphanage owners practically just dumped her into his hands without any warnings. And of course, he was also a tad confused, as he had absolutely no idea what to do with a thirteen-year-old girl.

And all of these thoughts were hidden behind a very Sherlock-esque half-smile.

Dr. Watson and Jackie weren't doing quite as well as the famous detective.

Jackie was suddenly feeling very small. She felt like she was shrinking under the icy gaze of her uncle, who appeared to be studying her as though she was some suspect in one of his cases. All the coldness and stubbornness that had been building up inside her during the long ride to the Manor had completely disappeared, and she was left feeling like a little girl again, completely lost in the world.

Dr. Watson was not faring well either. In fact, he was quite obviously the worst at hiding his emotions. Sherlock was silent and still, and Jackie was silent and still, but John Watson just couldn't do it. The situation was making him feel more awkward and unnerved with every minute.

"So…" Dr. Watson began, fingering his cup of punch nervously. "…Jackie. You're, you're thirteen, are you now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah. Very good."

The small talk wasn't working.

"So Jackie," he began again. "What's your favorite subject in school?"

"Er, probably literature, sir. I really like reading."

"Do you, now? Any favorite books?"

"Oh, I like all sorts."

"Ah. That's nice."

Needless to say, the trio didn't spend much more time at Mycroft's memorial party in Brunswick Manor.

After saying a few quick farewells, Sherlock Holmes marched out the house, followed closely by Watson, who was half pushing Jackie down the stairs. A cab was immediately flagged down, and soon they were headed off towards 221b Baker Street.

The house of Sherlock Holmes was a nice little two story brick apartment on Baker Street, surrounded by a small wrought iron fence and several shrubs and flowers most likely under the care of Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper and landlady.

Holmes threw open the front door and made his way up into the house, taking the stairs two at a time. Jackie and Dr. Watson, who were a good deal shorter than their detective friend, rushed after him.

Up about seventeen stairs was the entrance into Sherlock's actual home, 221b Baker Street. The main room was large and airy, with a big bow window on the left wall. The most noticeable feature was the large fireplace against the facing wall, with a huge bear skin rug spread out on the floor in front of it. Various other pieces of furniture were scattered about the room: a few armchairs, bookshelves, a desk, and a small, two-chair dining table. Still, despite the nice décor, Jackie's eyes were drawn to the huge piles of books and papers that were littering the floor.

"The house," Holmes said, as though that explained everything.

Jackie nodded. Everything about it seemed to suit him.

"Well then," said Sherlock Holmes suddenly, clapping his hands together. "Mrs. Hudson will show you to your room, and I'll be off to mine. I have a large amount of work I need to get done."

Jackie nodded, unsure of what to say. She watched as he turned and left for his bedroom.

"He's often like that, you know," Dr. Watson said suddenly, catching the hint of loneliness in her gaze. "He doesn't mean anything by it. Sometimes it seems he doesn't quite understand the necessity of human communication."

"Oh."

"He can be rather cold sometimes," the man continued, eyeing Sherlock's closed door. "He doesn't mean to offend, though. I don't suppose he'd keep it up, though, now that you…"

"It's alright," Jackie interrupted quickly. "I don't mind being alone."

She was, in all actuality, being entirely truthful. She didn't mind being alone at all, in fact, she rather enjoyed it. When she wasn't constantly being watched or followed around or looked after, she was free to do whatever she wished. She was especially glad to know that she would have plenty of time to look around the house and explore the area.

Still, the look on Watson's face showed he wasn't quite buying it.

"I wish I was able to stay and help you get settled in," he said somewhat wistfully, "but unfortunately, I do have some patients to attend to this afternoon. But you are welcome to visit whenever you wish; we live just a few streets down. Mrs. Hudson can show you the way. If he's still working later tonight, you're welcome to come over for supper."

"Thank you very much," Jackie said politely. "I'm sure I'll be fine here for a little while. Besides, I have a lot of unpacking to do."

Watson looked doubtfully at the small carpet bag in the girl's hand.

"Very well then," he said finally. "I'll leave you to it. But if you need anything, please come find me."

Jackie nodded and gave him a weak smile as Mrs. Hudson suddenly came bustling into the hall.

"Miss Holmes!" she cried, making a quick, messy curtsy before throwing her arms around the little girl. "Welcome to Baker Street!"

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was a stout, fast-talking, cheerful Scotswoman who appeared to be in her early sixties. Whether this was her actual age or just her appearance due to years of strenuous work, Jackie hadn't the slightest idea. She had never been very good at guessing people's ages.

The woman chatted with Dr. Watson for a few minutes, and then proceeded in taking Jackie's bag and leading her across the room.

"I'd give you a quick tour of the house, but there isn't too much to show you," Mrs. Hudson explained. "This is the study, of course, and Mr. Holmes's bedroom is right on the other side of that door. The kitchen is right across the hall, so if you ever need anything, I will more than likely be in there. But what you're probably most interested in is your own room. You'll be staying in Dr. Watson's old bedroom, which is upstairs."

They climbed the stairs and Mrs. Hudson opened the bedroom door. Jackie held her breath and walked inside.

It was perfectly lovely; a small room overlooking a little courtyard in the rear of the house, where a large, leafy sycamore tree and various small shrubs were planted. The room itself was very nice too, with all the amenities, including a very nice little fireplace.

"Well, this is it," Mrs. Hudson said cheerfully, looking around the small room. "Take your time unpacking and getting settled in. You can come down to the kitchen for supper whenever you're ready."

"Thank you," Jackie said in a small half-whisper. The landlady smiled and set her carpetbag on the dresser.

"Not a problem dear. I think you'll find it suits you very well."

"Yes, I think so too."

Mrs. Hudson gave her another kind smile and then left the room.

Finally Jackie was left alone. The room was strangely silent, and everything was perfectly still. It was almost unnerving.

Jackie slowly began unpacking her small amount of possessions and let that feeling of freedom soak in. What was she even to do with herself now? It seemed her uncle just wanted her out of the way, so how much could she actually do without being "in the way"?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on the front door downstairs. Jackie ran out into the hallway and crouched beside the banister, hoping to catch a glimpse of the visitor. More than likely it was just the milkman, or a paperboy, or maybe even Watson; but in the event that it was an interesting visitor, Jackie wanted to make sure she was the first to catch sight of him. She watched as Holmes opened the door of his bedroom and strode across the study, opening the door and letting the visitor in.

"Mr. Holmes," said a gruff voice, "I have heard you are a professional detective."

"I am."

"I come to request your services."

Even from the top of the staircase, Jackie could see the amusement in her uncle's eyes. Even she felt a leap of excitement; it seemed that for all members of the Holmes family, any potential for mystery, adventure, and the slight possibility of danger brought undeniable exhilaration. A chance to solve a crime or unravel the strange clues to a case was something no Holmes would ever pass up.

"Come in, come in," Sherlock said, leading the visitor into the study.

As he stepped into the light, Jackie immediately took note of his physical appearance. He was tall, thin, and well-dressed, obviously a prominent member of society. His hair was the color of reddish-brown rust, and he held his head high with a sense of irrefutable dignity.

Sherlock Holmes glanced up at the staircase just in time to catch a small figure shrink back into the shadows. He watched for any sign of movement, but if the girl was still there, she was being perfectly still. After staring upwards for a moment longer, he tore his gaze from the dark staircase and focused on his visitor, who, from the medals he was wearing on his coat, he presumed to be of some sort of royal heritage.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Well, you must understand, Mr. Holmes, the slight problem that has been pressed upon me…"

As the two men began conversing, Jackie slid back to the edge of the staircase and watched. She didn't take her eyes off her uncle, for fear he might see her up there again. And if there was one thing she didn't want, it was to miss this conversation. Of course, it could be about a perfectly meaningless predicament that would take the great detective two seconds to solve, but then again, it could also potentially turn into a huge, international crisis that dealt with the worst murderers and robbers in the whole entire world. As Jackie continued listening carefully, she couldn't help but hope for the latter.