As far as Sher was concerned, she could not care less whether or not Mycroft would like it.
When the man from the Scotland Yard had arrived, Sher was in a far better mood than what she was in since all broke down. He introduced himself as Detective Inspector Lastrad and started questioning her.
"I'm going to ask you some questions about the night between the 14th and the 15th of September. It's that alright?" He asked and Sher nodded. "Good. Start telling me what had happened."
"I was walking out of Arnie's around 10pm." She started and as she did all she felt during the attack came back to her. The fear she felt, the helplessness, the lack of ability to resist. Sher saw the look on John and Sherlock's faces and realized it was the first time they heard the story, too. She took comfort in their expressions and continued speaking. When she was done, Lastrad looked at her with appreciation.
"You are a very brave girl." He said, smiling at her. "I will make sure you can leave by the hour." He added and left the room.
John and Sherlock turned to Sher.
"You were brilliant." Said Watson.
"As soon as the nurse will arrive with the permission to leave, we will escort you home." Added Sherlock.
"You don't have to." Said Sher. "My flat is a five minutes' walk from here, I can do this by myself."
"I know you can," her father replied, "It doesn't mean you should."
"I'm not a child." Sher frowned.
"I never say you were. But the last time you wandered by yourself, Moriarty got to you, and I can't let it happen again."
Sher sighed, understanding. "Fine." She said. "But I'm not happy about it."
"You don't have to be," John said jointly, "as long as you understand."
When the nurse came to free her home, Jane walked with John and Sherlock.
"It's pretty messy," she said.
"Don't worry about it." John said. "Sherlock doesn't mind and I won't judge. If you want to, I can help you organize it."
"That will be nice, thank you." Sher said politely, but as they reached the flat, she hesitated a bit.
"I never showed anyone this place." She admitted. "Even Mycroft never saw where I live."
"It's alright." Sherlock said. "You don't have to let us in if you don't want to."
"I do! Want to, that is. I'm just nervous." She took a deep breath and opened the door. "It's not big." She said. There was just the kitchen, connected to a small living room, the bathroom and the bedroom.
"It's lovely." John said, but Sherlock said nothing. She knew he was taking in the feeling of the place, trying to use it to understand the daughter he learnt to have. From time to time, Sher had to remind herself the situation of having a daughter was new to him, just as much as having a father was to her.
"It's nice." He finally said, seeing John's face, waiting for reaction.
Sher smiled nervously. "I'm rather tired." She said. "I think I'll go to sleep."
"Yes, of course," Sherlock stood quickly. "Would you like us to stay?"
"No." Sher said quickly. "It's ok. You can go. Not that I mind," she added, realizing how unwelcoming she sounded, "it's just that... you don't have to... if you don't want to go..."
Sherlock put a relaxing hand on her shoulder. The fatherly act relaxed her.
"It's ok." He said. "Lastrad probably have a case for me, and John has a wife, and daughter to go to. Are you sure you'll be fine?" Sher nodded nervously. "In that case, we'll go."
They left and Sher was left alone in her apartment. She started organizing and as she did, she couldn't help but feel a tiny sting in her heart every time she saw something of James'. Eventually she was done and she went to her bed. She tried to sleep but couldn't, feeling the presence of James in the bed, with her. As she moved to the couch, she heard a sound.
"Hello?" She asked, but no reply arrived. Convincing herself it was only her imagination, Sher closed her eyes. The sound of footsteps on the floor woke her up.
"Is anybody there?" She asked, not sure if she'd rather no reply at all, or to hear the voice of the man haunting the flat.
She could hear the crack of the broken window in the bathroom, the wind howling over the trees at the street. She closed her eyes again, only to discover she was afraid of opening it once again.
When there was a knock at the door, she jumped in fear. She stood up and went to it, cautiously.
"Hello?" She asked the door and was relieved to hear the voice from the other side of it being Mycroft's.
"It's me," he said, "I just wanted to check in on you, I heard you went home today. I can go if you don't want me here." He added, hearing no reply.
"No!" She said, a bit too eagerly for her liking, while opening the door for him. "You can come in if you want."
He walked in and observed the flat quickly while she closed the door behind him.
"Would you like some tea?" She asked, heading to the kitchen.
"Yes, that would be nice." He replied, and sat at the table.
She heated the water and grabbed two cups. She laid it on the table and went for some milk from the refrigerator. As she closed it, she couldn't but notice the picture on it. James and her, hugged at the wedding of one of her high school friends three months back.
They looked so happy back then, no one who looked at this picture could imagine it was all a pretense.
As she realized Mycroft was also watching the picture, she turned at him and put the teapot, the milk and the sugar on the table.
"I know you hate me now." He said, breaking the tension in the kitchen.
"I don't exactly hate you," she said, "it's just that I was surprised, and hurt." She saw his understanding look, but still felt the need to explain. "Much came on me at once. You see, between being kidnapped, and learning about Sherlock and Jam- Moriarty, I needed time to process things."
"And that is fine," he said softly, "but now when you had that time, will you listen to what I say, to my part of the story?" Sher nodded. "When your parents met, they were both addicts. Your mother got clean for you, but no-one knows better than you she had her relapses, and just how badly they affected you, as her daughter."
As he spoke, Sher remembered parts of her mother's worst times. They were living abroad, it was in a small house in a French village that her mother had her first drop off. Sher was barely four years old but even now she could bring up every single detail from her memory. The stench that was in the bedroom when she walked in after her mother hadn't answered her, the look on the neighbors' faces when she went to them for help, Mycroft coming to the hospital, meeting her for the first time.
She was mature for her age back then already, but the experience had brought on the understanding of how strong she will have to be, for there wasn't really anyone that will be strong for her.
She remembered being suspicious towards Mycroft at first, but as the night went on and he was still there, she felt more confident around him. When she woke up in the morning, realizing she fell asleep and that he was still there, she truly opened up for him for the first time.
"Imagine two parents like that." Mycroft now said, pulling her back into present time. "No child deserves that. By the time Sherlock had gotten clean, you were six. Along with your mother, the decision was made not to interrupt your all too shaken life by letting you know about him and from that point on, the lies just piled. I'm sorry you had to learn the truth the way you did," he said, truly sorry, "but by the time I realized the lie was wrong, there was no right way to reveal the truth, you see?"
Sher saw, and understood. And yet it bugged her, deep inside.
"I understand you only wanted my best," she said, "but it doesn't mean I forgive you. You still lied to me, and avoided the truth when I asked you directly about it, so it will be a long time before I will forgive you entirely."
"For now I will simply be glad if you spoke to me again."
Sher smiled softly. "I'd love that."