Author's note: I might be working on more one shots as they are the only things I really have time for. If you have not read the sequel then do not read this. I only own Cassandra, everyone else belongs to Doyle. Reviews are wonderful...flames are annoying like my roommates.
Sherlock Holmes allowed himself to look at the young woman in front of him. She was dressed in a simple black skirt with a white blouse. Chestnut curls were freed from the pins they were in only some moments before. Her green eyes were staring at him in shock and her hands were shaking holding the gun.
She had grown. He knew she would, it has been three years after all. She was not the fifteen year old girl he had left behind that day in Mycroft's rooms, but a young woman.
He could tell she had not slept in days, perhaps longer, and she was far too thin.
"Cassandra, would you mind terribly if you were to refine from aiming that revolver at me as I do not doubt your accurate range. I would very much prefer for my head to be intact with the rest of my body." He told her.
She dropped the gun and backed away from him. "This is not real. It is impossible."
"Time and tine again I must tell you this, child. You know that once you have eliminated the impossible, no matter how improbable it may seem, it must be the absolute truth." Sherlock Holmes said.
"No, it's a dream."
"No, it is not a dream." He told her gently.
"You cannot be here. You are dead." Cassandra told him.
"Cass, I'm not dead."
She shook her head again. "I have gone mad. This is some twisted illusion my mind has made."
It took him some time to reassure her that he was real and that she was perfectly fine. He was able to even get her to hep him wake Watson. As he told them both the reasoning behind his faked death, he noticed that Cassandra's face was becoming dark with rage. Now that she had her head clear enough to think, her emotions were on a warpath.
And he had expected her to be angry. He expected her to scream at him, to cry over what he did, but he never thought he would see this. Whenever he thought about the day he was finally able to return he could come up with different outcomes. He never thought of the bitting words she would say, the way she swore at him, and the distance she placed keeping as far away from him as she was able.
After she had shouted that he it would have been better if he had continued to let them believe that he was dead, he was helpless watching her leave. Sherlock Holmes did not try to stop her from leaving as Watson did. After watching her, he knew that it would not have worked anyway,
"She only needs some time." Watson said coming into the study.
"Time for what? To forgive me, or for her anger to cool down? Neither of which will be soon."
The doctor sighed. "She has been through many difficult things over the past three years, Holmes. This has not been easy on her."
"I am aware of that."
Watson shook his head. "Holmes, understand that as your friend I am happy to see you alive again. However I am also angry that you were able to leave that girl alone."
"She was never alone. She had Mycroft, you and your wife. She was never alone."
"No, Holmes. She was alone. She needed you and you were not there. I understand why you did this. What I do not understand, is why you did not at least tell Cassandra. We were losing her, Holmes. She was wasting away before our eyes."
"I thought she would be fine."
"She wasn't, she wasn't alright for a long time."