A/N: Hey everyone, here's Chapter 7! It's a little short, but I think it needed to be that way, since we'll have a longer one with a little more action next time. We'll be meeting the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars next chapter, so get excited :) I should be posting it within the next week.

anyway, enjoy :) and review!

Disclaimer: I'm not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I don't own Sherlock Holmes or Watson or Mrs. Hudson, nor do I own any of the streets in London mentioned in this chapter :)

Sherlock Holmes was rarely an early riser, except, of course, for the times when he stayed up all night. And this actually happened quite often.

Around six o'clock, Mrs. Hudson, looking extremely weary-eyed from a night of listening to incessant violin playing, brought up breakfast and set it on the dining table. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his armchair, scanning the headlines of the morning paper with a pipe sticking out of his mouth. The landlady gave him a weak glare before hobbling back down the stairs and into her bedroom, hoping maybe she could regain a few hours of sleep.

Jackie slowly began making her way down the stairs a few minutes later. With her dark brown curls carefully combed and tied back with a ribbon and a fresh blue dress on, she appeared to be in a slightly better mood than the day before.

Holmes heard her coming down the staircase and peered up at her over his newspaper.

"Good morning. Breakfast is on the table," he said, motioning with his pipe to the dining table.

Jackie nodded and sat down. Mrs. Hudson had made her a plate full of eggs, sausage, and toast, but she was hardly hungry.

"Is it alright if I take a walk outside?" she asked.

Without lowering his newspaper, her uncle responded, "Of course."

"After you finish your breakfast," interrupted Dr. Watson, who had magically appeared at the front door.

Sherlock and Jackie both jumped slightly and looked up in surprise as the doctor shut the door behind him and hung his hat and coat on the hook.

"You do drop by at the strangest of times, don't you, my friend," commented Holmes, resuming his daily reading of the newspaper.

"Only when I'm passing by," replied Watson, who had taken a seat across from Jackie, "which, of course, happens to be quite often, seeing as there aren't many ways I can get into the most central parts of London without passing your house."

Holmes chuckled. Jackie gave the doctor a friendly smile. She had to admit that she was beginning to like him a lot; he was much more personable than her uncle. Although she wasn't so sure she would be have been able to endure living with Watson, as his incessant worrying over her and trying to talk to her was slightly irritating, she was definitely gladdened by the fact that he tended to visit quite often.

"And as for you," the doctor continued, directing his attention to Jackie, "you need to eat your breakfast before you do anything else. Really Holmes, do you plan on starving the child? As though she hasn't had enough of that already! You need to be more careful in making sure she eats all her meals."

"Of course," said Holmes, still engrossed in his reading.

Watson let out a deep sigh and turned back to Jackie.

"Make sure you eat everything," he reminded her. "And then you can go outside. Some fresh air would definitely be beneficial to you. Make sure to be careful around the alleys, though."

"I will," Jackie said, quickly stuffing a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth.

"Alright then, it seems my work here is done," Watson said, chuckling. "I'm headed to the Hendrickson's house, down off Piccadilly. Their poor son Theodore is sick with influenza."

"What a pity," commented Holmes. Watson rolled his eyes at his friend's lack of interest.

"Eat your breakfast," he called to Jackie as he put on his coat. "And be careful!"

Jackie gave him a quick wave and watched as he left the house. Taking a quick bite of toast, she leaned back in her chair so she could keep sight of him walking down Baker Street away from the house.

"Once he gets to Portman Square, he'll round the corner and won't be able to see the house anymore," Holmes said suddenly, as though knowing exactly what Jackie was thinking.

She looked up at him in surprise, but he still appeared to be reading his newspaper intently.

"Thanks," she muttered, and she turned back to the window.

As soon as Watson was out of sight, she took one last bite of toast and then ran upstairs to grab her jacket. Holmes glanced up at her barely touched plate of food and chuckled.

"I'll just be out for a walk, I won't go far," she said as she hurried back down the stairs and slipped into her jacket.

She paused at the doorway for just a moment, waiting for some sort of "be home in time for dinner" type of statement, but Holmes merely glanced up from the paper to acknowledge her departure, and then went back to reading.

Shrugging, Jackie turned and hurried down the stairs and out of the house.

Holmes put down his paper and watched as she practically jumped out onto the pavement, stood for a moment as though contemplating which way to go, and then took off in the opposite direction as Dr. Watson. She seemed to have something she was looking for. He wondered if she had any idea where she was going.

As his niece disappeared among the rows of buildings that lined the street, Holmes wondered for just a moment if he was doing the right thing. Was he helping her by taking her in, or only hurting her?

Sherlock Holmes dwelled on this for just a moment, but finding himself unable to delve into the mind of a thirteen-year-old girl, he gave it up and returned to reading his newspaper.