Sherlock sat in his armchair, fingers steepled. He was barely keeping his composure as he waited for his daughter to get home. The phone call had come in an hour ago.

"Sherlock, you need to talk to Elizabeth." Molly seemed almost frightened.

"Molly, calm down, what's going on?" Sherlock needed answers, and he needed them now.

"She... She came to the morgue this afternoon, said she wanted to talk to me. I told her of course, and we got a coffee, and we sat in the lounge. She asked me how my day was going, normal stuff like that and then..."

"And then what, Molly?" Sherlock was getting impatient now. If Molly didn't tell him what was wrong this instant, he was sure the wall would suffer again.

"She said she was asking hypothetically, but it really bothered me. It wasn't really the type of question one would ask hypothetically after all. But then I thought, maybe it was just a question, maybe it wasn't a big deal."

"Molly!" Sherlock barked.

"Right, right, sorry. Anyways she asked me what she should do if, hypothetically she said, a boy were to ask her to do...something...you know...that something. She said she didn't know what to do."

Sherlock had dropped the phone when Molly had uttered those horrifying words. He had sunk into his chair and hadn't moved since.

If you asked Sherlock, he would have told you that he was merely concerned for the state of his daughter's physical health. Who knew what type of diseases those boys carried around?

But because you didn't ask...

Sherlock was deathly afraid. He felt like shooting the wall, he felt like smashing open the head in the fridge, he felt like finding whatever boy was trying to take advantage of his daughter and throttle him.

The front door opened, and Sherlock recognized the steps that were making their way up the stairs.

Elizabeth came into living room and sat on the couch, pulling out Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

Alright, now was the moment to do it. Sherlock opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Was there a manual about how to ask your teenage daughter if she was being pressured to have sex? Sherlock had run through several scenarios in his mind during the past hour. He hadn't anticipated how awkward it would feel to start the inquiry when Elizabeth was actually right there.

Sherlock took a deep breath and just said it. "Elizabeth, have you had sex?"

Elizabeth glanced up at her father and blinked slowly, "I'm sorry, what?"

Sherlock sighed, "I asked you if you have had sex."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "What did Molly tell you?" She wasn't a Holmes for nothing.

"She just brought it to my attention that you had asked her what you should do if a boy asked you to do...something...you didn't want to do." Sherlock tried to gauge his daughter's reaction, but she was frustratingly emotionless.

"I really don't want to talk about this with you right now." Elizabeth closed her book and went to her room. Sherlock let her go, unsure of what he was supposed to do next. Then an idea popped into his head.

What do you do when you have to talk to your daughter about sex?- SH

Five minutes later, he got a reply.

She's fifteen, Sherlock. I'm pretty sure you don't have to give her that talk. I think they give it in the schools now. -JW

That's not what I mean. Molly said that Elizabeth asked her what she should do if a boy was pressuring her to have sex. -SH

Did you try to just ask her if she felt pressured? -JW

I asked her if she'd had sex. -SH

Well, what did she say?- JW

She didn't say anything. She went into her room. -SH

That's bad, Sherlock. -JW

What do I do? -SH

I don't bloody know! Maybe try talking to her or something. Ask her if something's bothering her. -JW

Wish me luck. -SH

Good luck. - JW

Sherlock steeled himself before setting off for his daughter's room. He was determind to get to the bottom of this, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.

Sherlock knocked on the door, for once respecting Elizabeth's privacy. A mumbled 'come in' came from inside, and he opened the door.

Elizabeth was curled into a little ball on her bed, the position she took when she was upset. Sherlock crossed to the bed and sat down beside his daughter's head.

"I apologize if I was a little...direct earlier." Sherlock stared at the back of Elizabeth's hair, wishing she would turn and face him.

"S'okay," Elizabeth murmured, sighing.

"Elizabeth, if anyone, if any boy especially, is pressuring you to do something you don't want to do, you can always come to me. You know that, don't you? A single call to Mycroft, and that mongrol would never again see the light of day. All you have to do is say the word." Sherlock said seriously.

Elizabeth turned over, giving Sherlock an unobstructed view of her bright, blue eyes. His bright, blue eyes. Some people would argue that Elizabeth couldn't possibly be Sherlock's, considering she looked virtually nothing like him. Then the idiot would look into her eyes and see Sherlock's clever, icy blue orbs reflecting back. "Thanks, Dad, but it's not really a big deal."

"It is a very big deal, Elizabeth." Sherlock countered. "When someone wants to have you in that way, it isn't something to take lightly."

"It won't matter anyway, don't worry about it."

Sherlock blanched. It wouldn't matter? Did that mean that she had already done it?!

"No, no, no." Elizabeth said quickly, noticing the scared expression on her father's face. "I didn't say yes. I broke up with him. He was trying to get me to do something I didn't want to do. If he truly loved me, he would have respected my saying no."

Sherlock relaxed. "That was the mature thing to do." He praised. Sherlock was very proud of the independent woman his little girl was turning into. She would change the world someday. "But it couldn't hurt if the little insect were to suddenly decide to move to America and never get anywhere near you ever again."