Ay ay people. I apologise for the slight hiatus there, but realisation that I had done no work for my exams kinda kicked me in the face and then I kinda killed myself trying to get some of it done. And I'm only in first year of uni, it gets a damn sight worse next year.

Anyway, enough ranting. A big shout out to everyone showing love for this story - alerts/faves and reviews are what keep me going. You are all beautiful people. Here, have some cake (it's my best friend's birthday, he's 22 and complaining about being ancient).

Here, have another chapter as well. Thoughts and constructive criticism are love =D

I own nothing, as per...I'm also unbetaed, so any mistakes are purely mine.

Everything was moving so fast, I hardly knew if I was coming or going. Oddly enough, it was when I knew nothing of what had happened to her, that I wanted Mum the most.

Instead, all I had was a madman in a dressing gown.

Better than nothing I guess.

I handed Sherlock Holmes the note. He joined us at the table and skimmed over it briefly. "Written in a rush…understandable…using an expensive fountain pen on heavy legal paper. A last-minute thing then…" He spoke quietly to himself, clearly forgetting about the other people in the room. In my peripheral vision I noticed Mrs Hudson slip out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the strange man. I took the opportunity to have a good look at him.

Thin, almost corpse pale. High cheekbones and eyes of an unidentifiable colour. Hair, semi-unwashed, in disarray. A man who lived for his work, then, forgoing washing at least, and almost certainly food if his unnatural thinness was anything to go by. His face as he poured over Mum's note, was closed, so focused on his task that it took up all his attention. An observer, then, like me. There was something so familiar about him as well. Something I couldn't put my finger on. Like his name, he rang a bell, very faintly, in the back of my mind. I knew it would niggle at me until I solved it, so I imagined it in a box and put a lid on it. I'll deal with you later I promised it.

He turned it over and looked at the mysterious code. I could see the cogs turning behind his forehead.

"Is there anything significant about this date?" he asked after a few moments.

"Is there…what?" I was jolted from my thoughts in surprise.

He adopted a look of what I can only describe as 'I'm surrounded by idiots.' "It's a date. Fairly simple, she's just removed the spaces so it isn't obvious." He removed a pencil from his pocket and made a few lines on the note. He pushed it across the table at me.

10/12/94

"No, I don't think so."

"Mm." He fell silent. "Come upstairs, Mrs Hudson does get so irritable when her space gets crowded. Tell me everything there."

And so it was that I wound up in the living room of the squashed flat, sipping a cup of tea and telling two strange men what had happened this morning, everything from the note, to the phone, to Godfrey's blatant lying.

"Something's going on. What I don't know, but my Mum's caught in the middle of it. And now so am I…" I stared into the fire. I like fire. It's beautiful, but deadly, and it doesn't care about the problems of those that use it.

"Mm." Holmes said again. He was also staring into the distance, and I suddenly felt a flash of annoyance. "Have you been listening to a word I've just said?"

He didn't answer. Fortunately the Army Doctor – John Watson – stepped in before I could start berating him again.

"Let him think. I get that you're worried but we won't get there any faster by shouting at him."

I slumped back into the chair. I still couldn't believe this man was my only lead. Despite his obvious capabilities, I had my doubts. Doubts over his resolve, his focus, certainly his stability. And all the time I was acutely aware that time was ticking away. The sooner I found out what was going on, the better. Unsolved mysteries bugged me, and this one was personal.

He made me jump when he bounded up off his grey leather chair and picked up his violin once more. Dr Watson sighed in resignation. "Come on, let's leave him to it."

The sweet tones of 'Pachelbel's Canon' drifted down the stairs and into Mrs Hudson's kitchen. Clearly she was well used to all this.

"What are we going to do about you then?" she asked, and she served us her home-baked scones. They were really rather good.

She means you, Evelyn. "Um…I dunno…I hadn't really thought…go home I guess."

The doctor shook his head. "That's too risky. If there's people after your mother, that's the first place they'll look."

"Well where do you suggest I go, sleep under Vauxhall Arches?"

"Do you have any other relatives?"

"Not within 50 miles of London. My Gran and Granddad live in Sussex, but we haven't seen them in years." I cast my eyes down as I recalled the last time we had. I'd been eight. Mum had attempted a reconciliation with them. Deeply religious and very old fashioned, they had still not forgiven her for falling pregnant with me 'Out of wedlock' – I think that was the phrase they used. "They won't even see me."

I refused to look up and see the sadness and pity in their eyes. Don't pity me. I don't care…

"Well then. You'll have to stay here."

What.

"Of course, dear. You can have the couch in my flat, or the one upstairs if Sherlock doesn't mind."

"Oh…come on, I can't. I have school on Monday, and someone's gotta keep an eye on the house and answer the phone and everything. Anyway…" I glanced upwards to where the music played on. "He gets on my nerves."

"Evie, you're underage. If they find out your mother's gone missing and you have no relatives willing to take care of you, they'll put you into foster care."

I shuddered at the idea. Shoved into a children's home with people I didn't know, that would pick fights with me every other week. There were a couple like that at my school. I can handle myself in a fight, but not against two bruisers a head taller than me.

And the difference here is…?

I looked at Mrs Hudson. She felt like the grandmother I never had. And the doctor had a very open countenance, and had been nothing but nice to me. "But Sherlock…"

"I'll deal with Sherlock." Doctor Watson looked at me levelly.

Either way I'll be stuck with strangers I thought. I may as well be stuck with strangers that are trying to help me.

I closed my eyes and nodded.

Only Mycroft, knowing his brother so well, noticed the twelve-year-old loitering halfway up the stairs as he directed the staff packing the car with his things. With one last glance at the two men hauling a large crate of books down the front steps of the mansion, the large eighteen-year-old climbed up to his level. "Sherlock?"

The boy looked up at him accusingly. "Why do you have to leave as well?"

Mycroft sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "Because I have to. If I'm ever to take a place in government, I need…more than I have here."

The boy looked at his shoes. "Just because you have to do it doesn't mean that you should."

He couldn't say anything to that. Just, "I' m sorry, brother."

Sherlock said nothing, his youthful face already closed off. Mycroft continued. "One day, you'll understand that I have to lead my own life, and you have to lead yours. Besides," He flashed his brother a conspiratorial grin. "Uncle Isaiah is always interested in your latest experiment."

Sherlock brightened a little. "He's coming?"

"And Auntie Berry. They agreed to look after you while I'm away. Isaiah will conduct his business from the house."

This time, a ghost of a smile flitted across the boy's serious visage.

"Master Mycroft?" said the butler tentatively. "We're ready for you."

Mycroft took one last look at his brother, before placing a hand on his head. "I'll stay in touch, I promise. Be good."

He turned and moved towards the door.

Sherlock, filled suddenly with a sense of loneliness, considered chasing him, begging him not to go…but then he was out of the door and gone.