"I really hope this isn't your idea of a fun evening." Darcie called from a nearby dumpster.

Sherlock stood his head poking out of another dumpster. "It's for a case, Darcie."

"Remind me what the hell I am looking for in the garbage?" Darcie tossed a bag to the other side.

"A pink travel case."

"Not really your style," Darcie teased.

"It was the victim's. She left it with a murderer. He must have realized it then disposed of it."

She hopped out and headed for the next dumpster. "Hey, Sherlock, I think I found it."

He was over there like a shot from a gun. At the top of the garbage, a solitary pink travel case sat there waiting for someone to find it. "Finally," Sherlock said cheerfully. He reached in and pulled it out.

"Brilliant," he set it down and unzipped it digging through the contents.

Darcie peered over his shoulder. When she saw him dig past everything, she made her own guess. "No phone," she whispered.

"She must have lost it." Sherlock pinched his eyes shut trying to think.

"Call it," Darcie suggested.

Sherlock opened his mouth then quickly zipped it back up and flipped it over. There was an identification card. "I'll explain more on the way."

One cab ride and an explanation later, Darcie found herself pacing the floor and Sherlock on the couch thinking three patches of nicotine on his arm. She stopped looking at him. "I must point out that you do look ridiculous. You're doing your praying otter."

"Praying otter," Sherlock's eyebrow raised.

"It's a thing you do when you are thinking too much like right now." Sherlock's eyebrows were still together. She sighed, "Whatever. Do you think John will actually come?"

That's when the door downstairs slammed shut. "Never mind." She whispered.

John saw Sherlock on the couch. "What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch… helps me think," Sherlock spoke calmly fingers against his mouth. He slid his sleeve up to reveal three pushing it to release more substances, "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days, bad news for brain work."

"It's good news for breathing."

"Oh, breathing, breathing's boring."

"Three patches," John asked.

"It's a three patch problem." He returned to 'praying otter' position.

"Mind lending me one?" Darcie asked. Sherlock tossed her one. Without looking, she caught it.

"Whoa, how old are you?" John called her.

"I'm seventeen, grandpa." She stuck the patch on her forearm. "I'm old enough to have a nicotine patch."

It was silent for a while till John looked to Sherlock saying, "Well?" Sherlock didn't answer. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Darcie pointed at Sherlock as she continued to pace, "He texted you, not me."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Sherlock opened his eyes. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" John's eyebrow rose.

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized, it's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson has a phone."

"She wouldn't answer Sherlock's yells. I don't blame her either." Darcie cut in.

John started to become angry. "I was on the other side of London."

"There was no hurry," Sherlock assured him. Darcie could see why Sherlock was fascinated by John. Sherlock had texted John "COULD BE DANGEROUS" yet John came.

Darcie glanced at John's hand. They were steady and still. He was calm and poised. Normal people would at least be nervous and scared or at least wouldn't have come. John missed the adrenalin.

"Just met a friend of yours." John's statement broke Darcie's concentration.

"A friend?" Darcie and Sherlock confused spoke.

"An enemy."

Sherlock relaxed. "Oh, which one?"

"Your arch-enemy, according to him. Do people actually have arch-enemies?" He asked Darcie who rolled her eyes. She knew who John was speaking of.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked slightly excited.

"Yes," John replied.

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

Darcie chuckled.

"Who is he?" John seemed concerned.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not really my problem right now," Sherlock changed his tone. "On my desk, there's a number."

Darcie's phone went off. "It's Molly." Sherlock looked over mildly curious. "Hello," she answered.

"I thought this was Sherlock. Who is this?" Molly spoke.

"No," Darcie shot Sherlock a glance saying that they would have words later. She moved to the kitchen to not disturb anymore of Sherlock's work. "It's Darcie."

"Well, a body was brought in and I thought he'd like to see it since the file has his name in it."

Darcie put her hand on her hip thinking. "Sherlock's busy with another case. I'll come down and check it out."

"But I really think that Sherlock –"

"No, Molly, he can't. I'll just have to come down and check it over. I'll be there in a few." Darcie hung up looking to see Sherlock grabbing his coat.

"You coming with us?" Sherlock said slipping his coat on.

"I'm afraid not. Molly called say that a body was brought in and your name is in the file." Sherlock turned to her in slightly puzzlement. "I told her you were on a case and I would check it over."

Sherlock watched Darcie grab her coat from the nearby stool. "All right, text me if you need help."

"Will do," she went with Sherlock and John outside and they traveled their separate ways.

Molly greeted Darcie at the entrance of the morgue. "Darcie," she opened the door.

Darcie cut her off. "Tell me what we've got."

"Uhmm… female, Caucasian," Molly started but she then saw Darcie's hand reaching out for the file. "And you don't want to hear it from me."

"Molly, I might be here for a while. Could you get me a coffee, preferably black no sugar, please?"

"Yeah, sure," she left the room leaving Darcie to her work.

Flipping open the file, she scanned the contents. The woman had died giving birth to a stillborn child. She was 19 with a frail body. Unlike most pregnant women, she didn't gain weigh leaving her underweight. Complications killed her.

Darcie stopped. She had seen something like this before. Her own mother. She put down the file and examined the body. The woman's hair was blonde but it was dyed obvious by the darker roots. The face was slender and beautiful. She looked for more clues. The more Darcie dug the more similarities the woman had with her mother.

She called Sherlock knowing he would want to see this. He didn't answer. Looking at the screen, she checked the time. It was a few minutes after midnight; the date had changed. "It's my birthday," she whispered sadly.

The only thing that was different about this woman and her mother was the lack of a tattoo on the inside of the left upper arm. It had to be coincidence. Same blood type, hair color, figure, height. Darcie took pictures in time for Molly to visit a fifth time.

"Did you find anything?" Molly asked.

Darcie pinched her eyes shut. "The still born, was it a boy or a girl?"

"It was a boy." Molly confused continued. "I fail to see how it is relevant to the case at hand."

Darcie pulled out her phone again. "It has everything to with the case at hand."

"Who are you calling?"

"Sherlock," Darcie looked Molly right in her eyes. "You were right that he would want to look this over."

"I was?" Molly asked unsure.

"Very," she heard Sherlock pick up. "Sherlock, you're going to want to get over here."

Sherlock moved the dead woman's left arm. Darcie was glad that he got there fast. The sooner Sherlock could answer the questions the safer everyone was.

He hadn't spoken to her since he got there. He would mutter to himself but he spoke too fast for Darcie to understand what he said.

Molly watch fascinated but was surprised when he spoke to her. "Thank you, Molly, for bring this to our attention."

Darcie chased after him into the hallway where he stood looking out of the window. "So is that it?"

"Is what it?" He was deep in thought.

"Is it just a coincidence?"

"What have we said about those?"

Darcie turned her gaze to the city outside. "The universe isn't that lazy." It was one of the first things he taught her.

"Why was my name on the file?" He thought out loud. "What was the woman's name?"

"I think it was…My God. It was Kathy." Darcie looked to her uncle and guardian.

They stood there in silence till Sherlock whispered, "So are you going to leave?"

"What?"

"You're eighteen now. You could leave now if you want." Sherlock didn't dare look at his niece that had been his friend for a few years.

Darcie knew it was a true fact. She had every right now to leave like she once threatened that first week. She smiled. Things changed. "You know," her voice startled him. "They don't have to know I'm eighteen. I could stick around a bit longer."

She caught him smiling out of the corner of her eye. Neither one of them wanted to admit they enjoyed each other's company. Besides, they both wanted to make up for lost time that they never got to have in her younger days.

"I told John it was your birthday. That's why he didn't come. I think he went to get you a present."

They chuckled. To them, a birthday was just another day. "Maybe you should get me one too." She teased.

"Maybe I should." He ruffled her hair. "Maybe I should. Come on, let's go home."