People and Drawings.
It was probably around ten years later when Athena popped in again, checked on Mycroft, and went south. South to a nice man on the coast, who was nearly her opposite. He was gentle, a painter, who liked the smell of the rivers and the bustle of a small town. He was brilliant, too, in a different way. He saw a person and saw what made them human, and he saw Athena and saw what made her not one.
That happened, sometimes, some people were gifted to see through the Mist, and Mr. Hooper was one of them. He accepted what he saw as miracles and magic, and drew them up for the tourists that stopped in and bought the pictures of small dancing figures and things that wove under the waves. He told Athena as much, when he saw her again. She bought a few drawings, one of them of her, and told him she was going to give him a child. He nodded sagely and thanked her politely, and at first she thought he didn't believe him, but he did.
He named the small, soft baby Molly. He raised her with stories of the things he'd seen, but he always phrased them as stories. He knew the darker, more dangerous things didn't cross the ocean to come here, and Molly probably wouldn't have believed him, anyway.
She was smart, like her mother, but softer, like her father. She understood humans, and people often overlooked the brain she had. But she made it through medical school with flying colors, and she knew her father was proud.
When she compared Sherlock Holmes—one person her intellect had settled on, obsessed over—to her father, it was the highest compliment she could come up with.
.
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