A/N: Many thanks to Phish Tacko for her help beta'ing this!

Ch. 4

Sherlock's Return

Marie had been at daycare when Mycroft had gone to retrieve his brother; "Aunt Molly" had taken care of her afterward, since it took Mycroft and Sherlock more than a day to return.

It had been two years since Sherlock had "died", and in that time a lot had changed. Mycroft wondered how Sherlock would handle seeing his daughter again. He was sure that Marie would be alright. She was a tough little girl.

Now, the three were sitting at the table, eating dinner. Mycroft and Marie ate silently, and Sherlock was surprised by how well-mannered Marie was, considering that she was only three. He couldn't help but stare at her. She looked so much different than the last time he had seen her. Her hair was thick and curly, and splayed out into an afro. She wore a pink and white headband to keep the curls away from her face, a pink shirt and a white skirt. Sherlock wondered if Mycroft had dressed her nicely for the occasion or if she was normally dressed in such clothing.

After several moments of being stared at, Marie finally addressed the topic of the stranger sitting at the table.

"Uncle Mycroft, who is that?" She asked softly.

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock.

"Perhaps you should tell her," He suggested.

Sherlock nodded, his heart racing. How would Marie respond to his answer?

"I'm your daddy, Marie. And I've missed you very much."

Marie said nothing, but continued to stare at Sherlock. She was probably sizing him up.

"I know it's been a long time since we have seen each other, but I truly have missed you," Sherlock added.

There was another painful silence.

Finally, Marie spoke again.

"Okay."

The response was quiet and calm – detached, and to Sherlock, it felt like a punch to the gut. She did not recognize him, nor did she care for him. Not that he blamed her – he'd been gone for two whole years – but it still hurt.

Sherlock took a deep breath and stood up.

"Excuse me for a moment." He forced a smile and walked out of the room.

00

As soon as the washroom door was closed, Sherlock turned on the faucet and began to cry. He hoped that the running water would drown out any noise that he might make.

The entire time that he'd been taking out Moriarty's cohorts, he'd kept Marie in mind. More often than not the thought of her was the only thing that kept him going. He would never admit it, but his existence on the run was a lonely one. He missed his friends, even Mycroft. But most of all, he missed Marie.

"Oh, God." Sherlock sat in the corner of the bathroom, knees pulled up to his chest while he sobbed.

On Marie's second birthday, he'd lit a small candle for her. He'd been deep in the bowels of the Czech Republic, hiding out in a tunnel while a group of Moriarty's men looked for him, and he'd lit the candle and thought of her before blowing it out and wishing that her birthday was a good one.

He'd done something similar on her third birthday. And now, he was finally back with her, and she had no idea who he was.

00

Back at the table, Mycroft noticed that Sherlock had been gone for quite some time. He smiled at Marie.

"I'll be right back, darling. Miss Shadwell will stay with you," He referred to his maid.

The young woman stepped forward and also smiled at Marie, then took a seat next to her.

With Marie in safe hands, Mycroft headed off.

The sound of water running inside the washroom told him all that he needed to know. Sighing, he tapped gently on the door.

"Sherlock," He called. "Let me in, please."

Nothing.

Mycroft frowned and tried again.

"Sherlock, I know you're upset. Let me in so we can talk."

It was another few seconds before Mycroft saw the doorknob turn. Sherlock had unlocked it before returning to his space in the corner. Mycroft knelt down so that he was nearly eye level with Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I know it's tough now, but she'll get used to you."

Sherlock said nothing, and tears continued to roll down his cheeks.

"If she could get used to me, she can get used to you," Mycroft continued.

Sherlock sniffled.

"What… What has she done? I mean, she must be intelligent. Tell me what she's learned, what her life has been like, please," Sherlock pleaded.

"Well," Mycroft started. "She's enrolled in the Sandylane Daycare and she spends half of the day there, five days each week."

"That place is pretty upscale. I'd considered it for her myself when the time came," Sherlock noted.

"It seemed to fit her needs. You are right, she is very intelligent. She can already read."

The look of sadness in Sherlock's eyes briefly lifted.

"Can she, now?"

"Yes. She learned very young. Her favorite books are Hop on Pop and The Fat Cat Sat on the Mat."

"You couldn't give her something more educational to read?"

"She's three, Sherlock."

"Alright, fine. What else?"

"We think she may possess an eidetic memory, but we are not sure yet. She has friends at daycare and has attended several birthday parties. She seems to be fairly sociable, no doubt a trait she got from her other parent," Mycroft joked.

Sherlock didn't laugh. Again, he felt sad. He imagined Marie being taken to a birthday party, playing with other children, laughing and having fun. He hadn't been there for any of it.

"Do you celebrate her birthday?"

"Of course. Molly came around for her second and third birthday, as did Mrs. Hudson and your parents, even Lestrade showed up!"

"Not John," Sherlock said.

"No, John wasn't there. It might have been too painful for him."

Sherlock nodded.

"I missed him, too. God, I've missed so much…" This time, Sherlock was able to hold back his tears, though he was still miserable.

Mycroft laid a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Sherlock, again, I know it's hard, but things will get better. You'll have years to spend with Marie and in that time, she will come to love you as her father."

"I hope so," came Sherlock's response.

"I know so," Mycroft replied.