A/N: just a note, since this chapter is really heavy with crazy-Jackie stuff (seriously, after I reread it, I couldn't believe what I had done to the poor kid, I hope I didn't make her seem too insanely crazy) I promise I'll focus my next one on what Holmes is thinking. I mean, this is Sherlock Holmes fanfiction, right? :) and I promise the next one won't take quite as long as these three did!! enjoy, and review please!

"Well Watson, then what do you suppose I do with her?"

There was a very long silence, and then Watson muttered something too soft that even Jackie, who was sitting with her ear pressed against the door of the study (she had found a new way to listen in to conversations, and had taken to sitting out in the front foyer which could easily be reached by sneaking through Mrs. Hudson's room), couldn't hear what he had to say. But it wasn't as though she needed to hear it, anyway.

Feeling a little sick, she made her way back upstairs to her bedroom and lay down. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could and tried to force the tears to stop rolling down her cheeks. But it was no use.

Jacqueline Holmes was not a crybaby. She was tough, stubborn, and headstrong. She would do what she wanted, when she wanted, and she didn't let other people boss her around. She had been through many terrible experiences that left her hardened and stronger. But still, lying there in the darkness, knowing that Holmes and Watson whispering softly about her downstairs, she had to break down and cry.

Jackie didn't really know what a "home" was. She had never had a family, and she had never had anyone to love her. But when she had first set her eyes on 221B Baker Street, with her uncle and Dr. Watson at her side, something clicked. It just felt right. It felt like home.

And now, she wasn't wanted. Again.

The young girl continued going over this in her head, wondering what she had possibly done wrong and trying to figure out what she could do to fix it, when suddenly she heard a soft noise at her window.

Jackie froze. She cautiously glanced out the corner of her eye to see if she could spot what was causing the clatter. But now everything was silent.

At the orphanage, strange noises were always attributed to one of two things: the big oak trees out in the front lawn, or the rats that were constantly around in the attic. So when any small, terrified child woke up screaming because he heard a scary noise, someone would usually say, "oh, it's just a tree brushing against the window" or perhaps "it's just those stupid rats again, so just to bed". But here, the tree in the yard was too far away to touch the window, even on blustery nights, and Jackie was also pretty sure there were no rats in the attic either. Curious as to what the noise could be, she carefully tilted her head and glanced out the window.

There it was again. It sounded quite like something small being thrown against the glass. Scary thoughts immediately began invading her mind, but Jackie, determined not to let her imagination get the best of her, slowly slid out of bed and made her away across the room to the window.

As the noise continued, Jackie soon figured out that someone was throwing rocks against her window. Slightly annoyed, she looked down into the backyard below. But strangely enough, it was completely empty.

By now she was extremely intrigued. Was it a person? Where did he or she go? Was it some sort of strange animal? Or was it just her imagination?

Climbing onto her desk, she struggled to push open the window. Apparently it hadn't been opened in quite some time; Holmes did say the room hadn't been in use since Watson had married Mary Morstan and moved out on his own. Finally, she succeeded in prying open the window and leaned her head out to get a better peek at her surroundings.

The night was dead quiet. The yard was completely empty, and there was not a single person out on the street. There was quite obviously nobody outside throwing rocks at windows.

Confused, Jackie sat down on the desk and wondered what on earth could have made the sound. Perhaps it wasn't a rock after all. Perhaps it was just a…

"BOO!"

"AHHHHHHH!"

Screaming, Jackie fell backwards off the desk in shock, sending a barrage of notebooks and pens flying across the room as well. She landed on the wood floor with a loud thud.

Rubbing the back of her head, she looked up with annoyance to see the person who had scared her half to death. And there, hanging onto the windowsill, was a young boy completely laughing his head off.

"What on earth possessed you to do that?" Jackie said angrily, standing up and glaring at the boy. "And what are you doing hanging out my window? And, most importantly, who the heck are you, anyway?"

The boy gave her a sly smile and pulled himself through the window, sitting atop the desk. Jackie took a step backwards, still glaring at him. He was a relatively tall, scrawny, freckle-faced boy who appeared to be about her age. He was dressed from head to toe in dirty, ratty clothing that looked like it hadn't been washed or patched in forever.

"You aren't very observant, are you?" he said, chuckling. "I was standing down there on the top of the kitchen window, and you didn't even notice me."

Jackie gave him another icy glare. His green eyes shone brightly, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling that they were more or less laughing at her.

"I'm extremely observant," she said matter-of-factly, "but it's dark, and I was a bit scared seeing as someone was throwing things at my window in the middle of the night."

"So you were scared?" The boy grinned again, tossing a pebble slowly between his hands.

"No, I wasn't."

"You said you were."

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did!"

"Fine! I was, okay? You would be too if it was eleven o'clock at night and you were in a new place and you were hearing strange noises coming from the window!"

The boy just chuckled and continued tossing his rock. "Feisty," he said, glancing up at her with a smirk.

Jackie glared at him. "Who are you anyway? Some silly street urchin who figured it was all fine and dandy to just climb through my window and sit on my desk?"

"I beg your pardon," he said, pretending to be offended. "But I am certainly no silly street urchin. I, my lady, am the leader of the Baker Street Irregulars!"

Jackie just stared at him, and then rolled her eyes. "And you expect me to know what that means?"

"The Baker Street Irregulars," he began, twirling a piece of dirty brown hair, "are only the greatest crime-fighters in London, after, of course, our mentor and master, Sherlock Holmes."

"So you're his servant."

"No," the boy said, clearly annoyed. "Not his servant, his assistant! I lead the rest of the group in various missions that Mr. Holmes asks us to undertake."

Jackie rolled her eyes again. The boy merely shrugged, although he did look slightly fazed by her lack of enthusiasm.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"I think you should answer that yourself first," Jackie said with some irritation, "seeing as I more or less asked you the same question several minutes ago and you never actually told me your name. And besides, I think it's only right that you, who so rudely burst into my room, tell me who you are first."

"Fine then," the boy said, and Jackie could sense the amusement in his voice. "If you want to know my name first, I'll tell you. I'm Wiggins."

"Wiggins?" Jackie gave him a wide eyed stare, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her laughter. "What kind of name is Wiggins?"

"What kind of name is Jacqueline?"

"How did you know that was my name?" Jackie cried, and her eyes rested upon the file of papers Harland Ludwig had gave her, nicely labeled "JACQUELINE HOLMES". Irritated, she flung the papers off the desk and looked back up at the boy sitting before her.

"That is not my name," she said coldly. "It's Jackie. And if you ever, EVER call me Jacqueline, so help me I will make sure you never, EVER even get the chance to say my name again!"

Wiggins was not the least bit intimidated by this. He gave her another grin and began tossing his pebble again. "Whatever you say… Jacqueline."

Jackie took a deep breath and tried to contain her anger. As much as she wanted to give him a good solid punch in the face, she figured that if he really was an assistant of Sherlock Holmes, it wouldn't be a very good idea.

"Get out of my room."

"Why?"

"Because. Now get out."

"Who says it's your room?"

"Everybody. Now leave."

"No, seriously. It used to be Dr. Watson's."

"Well, it's not anymore. Now GO AWAY."

"Well, who said…"

"MY UNCLE SAID, OKAY? HAPPY?"

Wiggins sat back on his heels and smiled.

"Very happy," he said. "That's all I needed to know."

Jackie snorted. "What? So you climbed up to the window, burst into my room, and annoyed me to death just so you could figure out if I was technically allowed to use this room?"

"Well, I suppose that is important to know, isn't it?" said Wiggins with a smirk. "But what I really wanted to know was why you were here, and who you were. The boys and I watched as you came in, and we couldn't figure out what on earth Mr. Holmes need with a dim-witted, shrimpy little girl. But now it looks like I've found my answer. He's been forced to take you in!"

"Not forced," Jackie said quickly. "He offered to, well, sort of, anyway. And I'm not dim-witted, and I'm not shrimpy either. And why is it that you all seem to be watching every little thing we do? That isn't the least bit scary at all."

"Whoa, a bit of sarcasm there, eh, Jacqueline?" Wiggins said mockingly. "Didn't think you could do it!"

"Wiggins, get out of my room, right now, or I'll go and get Dr. Watson and my uncle, and they will personally take you out, if, of course, I don't first."

The boy just laughed. "I'm not scared of the Doctor or Mr. Holmes, because I know they'd never do such a thing. I, the leader of the Baker Street Irregulars, am certainly much too important for them to get rid of just because you want them to! And of course, I am not in the least bit scared of you. Why, you're practically nothing! You're just some stupid, hot-blooded, high-strung little orphan girl who is nothing less than a burden to the amazing Sherlock Holmes!"

It was the last straw for Jackie. Furious, she climbed up on the desk and pushed that obnoxious street boy right out the window.

She didn't even watch as he fell down onto the grass below. She slammed the window shut and stomped across the room, throwing herself on her bed and sobbing.

She could just barely hear Holmes and Watson still muttering softly downstairs. She wasn't sure exactly how they managed to miss all the racket that she and Wiggins had caused, but somehow they had been completely deaf to the whole ordeal.

Soon enough, the boy had somehow managed to make his way back up to her window, and was continuously tapping on it.

"Jackie? Jackie?" came the muffled voice from outside. "Listen, I'm really sorry, okay? I didn't mean to… to… Jackie?"

She could see his face from the mirror sitting on the bedside table, and he did actually look legitimately sorry, but Jackie was in no mood to forgive him. She buried her face in her pillow and continued crying, trying to ignore the boy who was still knocking softly on her window.

She was completely miserable. Not so miserable that she wanted to return to the orphanage, but if the rest of her stay continued like this, she might actually consider it.

She hated everything.

She hated her uncle for not understanding her, for constantly underestimating her, and, when he wasn't completely ignoring her, for treating her like a silly little child.

She hated Watson for his small talk, because although he thought he was making her feel more comfortable, in reality, he wasn't.

She hated that stupid boy named Wiggins for just being plain obnoxious. She had no idea what he wanted, or where he came from, or who had given him such a strange name, but she hated him.

She hated her father for first leaving her in an orphanage, and then for dying at the most random time ever, forcing her to move in with his brother.

But most of all, she hated the fact that she actually had made a mental list of things to hate. She hated not being able to find the silver lining in the situation, and not being able to just accept everything she was going through. She hated hating her uncle and Watson, because she knew they were genuinely trying.

Basically, there was just a lot of hatred in Jackie Holmes's life. And she absolutely hated it.

She suddenly realized that the tapping had stopped. She sat up just in time to watch Wiggins walk through the yard, jump the fence, and hurry across the street. She felt somewhat bad for pushing him out the window, but the truth was, he completely deserved it.

With a sigh, Jackie lay back down and stared up at the ceiling. The talking downstairs had stopped, and the sound of a closing door signaled Watson's departure. Finally, the entire house was silent.

Now that she had finally calmed down a bit, thoughts began racing through her mind. Sure, there was a whole lot of hatred in her life (self-induced, of course), but that didn't mean she couldn't do anything about it. She had been given a chance to make something of herself, to finally be free from the terrible people at Harland Ludwig's orphanage. So why was she lying here crying about some silly boy with a rock?

So with that on her mind, and a keen resolve to change the way her life was headed, she drifted off to sleep.

It was around one in the morning when Sherlock Holmes slowly walked up the stairs towards his niece's bedroom. He opened the door just a crack.

Jackie was silently sleeping, looking perfectly peaceful with a soft smile upon her face.

Holmes had to smile.

"Seems she's getting along better than we thought," he said to himself. Then the great detective, feeling very reassured, went downstairs, picked up his violin, and began to play.