Sherlock wasn't in the same chair when John came downstairs in the morning, but he was pacing back and forth across the kitchen. He was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing yesterday, and the fact they didn't look particularly rumpled was probably because he hadn't got any sleep. When John said "Morning" to him, he actually responded with a "Morning" of his own, so that was a good sign.

Unfortunately that was the last thing he said for the entire morning, and he was even silent when they took a cab to the Aherne's flat. Sherlock stared out the window, but he was clearly not focusing on anything. John was suddenly glad he'd had a large dinner; this was the type of day that required a lot of fuel. After they disembarked from the cab and knocked on the Aherne's door, John noticed that Sherlock's hands were clenched into fists. He'd never done that before and John wasn't sure what to make of it.

Mr. Aherne opened the door, and the sweet smell of baking biscuits drifted out to them. Two pairs of green eyes were trying to peer past their father and out the door, but Moira's was not one of them.

"Come in. I've been baking all day for a birthday party this weekend. Birthday boy is allergic to peanuts and his parents wanted to make sure none were in the kitchen."

"Can I have a biscuit, Dad?" Dierdre asked as they came into the front room. A pile of trainers and a football were sitting by the door as well as a dog leash. The whole place had the cozy familiarity that most homes with children have.

"Only when I've counted them out, you know that. I always bake more than people ask for, so there should be plenty left." He smiled as he led them into the adjacent kitchen. Racks of cooling biscuits littered the counter and a large stand mixer was running at full power.

"Anyway, we just ate dinner, Dierdre," said her brother. "You can't be hungry again already."

"I want a biscuit!" she protested.

"Enough," ordered Mr. Aherne. "Both of you find something to do that's not in this kitchen." They scampered into the living room and were soon sitting on the sofa, engrossed in the TV's soft glow. Apparently satisfied, he turned back to Sherlock and John. "Moira's in her room with the dog. It's just down the hall; the door should be open." He gestured down the way. "She will probably want the door to stay open while you talk to her."

John knew he wasn't supposed to make his presence known, but he couldn't resist looking into Moira's room. She was sitting on the bed with a book, a veritable wall of stuffed animals on one side of the bed. The dog (tan, huge, and wrinkled) was lying down on a large round cushion. A Doctor Who poster and a Star Wars poster were on adjacent walls, and a large poster of some astronomical object hung over the bed. He noticed that the room had a window right by the bed, and with a twinge of unease realized it was on just the right level for someone to enter by it. He ducked out of the way as Sherlock walked into the room, pulled out the recorder, and pressed the button.

"Hello, Moira," Sherlock said kindly. "Is there a chair I can bring in here?"

"You can sit on my bed," she said in response, and John could hear the sound of them shuffling around.

"That's a lovely photograph on that poster. Which Messier object is it?"

"It's the Wild Duck Cluster. I got it for my birthday. You're smart because most people don't know what the M stands for." John was surprised he knew what it stood for, considering Sherlock claimed ignorance of the earth going round the sun, but Sherlock had shown some strange bits of knowledge in the past from areas he seemed otherwise ignorant of. Or the photograph mentioned what the M stood for; that was possible.

"Do you like astronomy?"

"I like it a lot. I want to be a scientist. Like Carl Sagan or Stephen Hawking or Marie Curie. I've got books that tell all about their lives." There was the clink of metal objects against each other. "Oh, Rory wants to say hello. Just let him sniff you. It's okay, Rory, he's a nice man." John couldn't believe what he heard next. It was a laugh – was Sherlock really laughing?

"He probably smells this." Papers rustled.

"Oh, a Cadbury bar! Is this all for me?" Moira sounded delighted. John was still stunned. Sherlock never bought food on his own, and he knew there weren't any Cadbury bars in their flat. Had he really done that just for this interview?

"It's all yours. Don't give it to Rory, though."

"I wouldn't because chocolate's bad for dogs. But do you want some?" More rustling papers.

"I wouldn't mind a piece. Thank you, you're very kind." John could now smell the faint scent of the chocolate bar. "You said you had an insect book the last time we talked. Can you show it to me?"

"It's right here in the book case." There were footsteps. "Here it is. Those are all my scientist books, right next to them."

"You do have a lot of books about science." More footsteps, presumably moving back to the bed. He heard pages turn.

"See, this is the page with the bee. It's got a picture they took with a microscope."

"It doesn't look much like the bees you see outside, does it?"

"No, because it's so close up. People might look funny if you took pictures of them with a microscope too." A pause. "You said you had a stuffed bee. Who gave it to you?"

"My brother."

"Do you still have it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It got taken away from me." Sherlock sounded sad, almost as though he still mourned its loss.

"And you never got it back?" She sounded sad herself, but John reminded himself that a child would of course mourn the loss of a toy, or even the idea of losing one.

"I believe my mother sold it. Or perhaps gave it away."

"That's unfair. Was your mum the one who took it away?"

"Yes, she was."

"Did you ask your dad for it back?"

"My father died when I was small."

"That's sad. I'm sorry." He heard a cry of surprise. "Don't you like hugs?"

"Not very much, no."

"I shouldn't have hugged you without asking first. Me dad does that when I'm sad, though, so I forgot."

"It's all right."

"What did you get your bee taken away for?" She sounded curious and somewhat horrified, like she couldn't imagine the crime that would involve such a severe punishment.

"I was telling horrible lies." He was using the same flat, rehearsed tone that he had used when he said it before. "And I was fourteen and too old for such a childish thing."

"Were you telling horrible lies?" John was surprised by the question; he hadn't even thought to ask something so basic.

"No." His voice was almost a whisper.

"So your mum just thought you were?"

"Yes."

"Did your brother find out about it?"

"Yes. He was very angry. Then a few months later my mother died."

"Because of what you told her?" There was a note of terror in her voice.

"No. It would have happened anyway." Sherlock sounded like he didn't quite believe that. Of course it was probably the truth, and he knew that factually, but he hadn't convinced his feelings otherwise.

"I don't want to lose me dad."

"I don't think you do. No one does."

"If he dies will someone be allowed to adopt me?"

"They might. The police and the courts would have to see that person could give you a good home." He sounded almost reassuring. "You seem to be very worried about that."

"Yeah." Her voice was the whisper that his had been before.

"Did someone say that they would adopt you if he died?" There was a very long period of silence. John assumed she nodded, because Sherlock then said, "They did?" More silence. "Are you afraid of this person?"

"Yeah." Her voice was so faint that it was almost inaudible.

"And they said that you'd get in trouble if you said anything about them."

"You know," she responded in a tone of wonder.

"How about I make a deal with you. You can tell me more about this person, but don't tell me their name or what they look like. That way, if they ask you if you've told anyone about them, you can still say no."

"All right."

"Do you know where this person lives?"

"No."

"Where did you meet them?"

"At the park. I took Rory for a walk and I met someone. We talked a bit. I said we'd moved. Said to me I must be lonely."

"I'm sure you were."

"I said I was." Another long period of silence. "That's when the question…" She trailed off.

"They asked you a question?" Silence, probably filled with another nod. "What did they ask you?"

"If I was a boy or a girl."

"And you said you were a girl?"

"Yeah." More silence.

"What did they say after that?"

"'Are you sure?'"

"Did you say you were sure?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Did they?"

"Yeah."

"It's okay, you don't have to look at me. What did they say next?"

"'Let me check,'" she whispered.

"What were you wearing?"

"A sweatsuit and a jacket."

"So they just pulled at the jogging bottoms and checked?"

"It was sort of a rub. Then it got all hot and burny. Said I really was a girl, but that was a while later."

"You don't remember how long it was?"

"No."

"Did they tell you they would be coming back? Or that you'd see them again?"

"Said to come back tomorrow. Said, 'I want us to be friends.' Said, 'I like dogs too.' If I came back there'd be a surprise."

Sherlock was the one who broke the long silence. "You're a very brave girl, Moira. Thank you for telling me all this."

"Will you come back to see me?"

"Of course I will. I'd like to talk to you again. Next time I would like to have my friend John here when we talk. Do you mind that?"

"No. Dr. Watson's a nice man. You can bring him."

"Okay. We're going to stop now, because this is hard for you. But next time I will ask you some more questions. Is that all right?"

"Okay. And you won't tell K – " The first letter apparently slipped out, but the rest of the name was cut off. She took a deep, panicked breath. John wondered whether "K" was the beginning of a first name or a last name.

"No, of course not. K won't know we've talked. Thank you, Moira." Sherlock emerged from the room. He looked paler than usual, although it was hard to tell. "Come along, John," he said as he walked down the hallway. They returned in the kitchen where Mr. Aherne was still waiting, his other two children now eating a biscuit each. To John's surprise, he thrust a plate of biscuits wrapped in plastic at Sherlock.

"Thank you so much for all you've done. Will I be seeing you again?"

"Moira wants me to come back, so yes, you will. We have to deliver the tape to the Yard first, but Lestrade says that if you want to listen to it you can go down there tomorrow." Sherlock sounded once more confident and professional. It was hard to imagine he was the same person who had been so gentle with a child minutes ago.

John wasn't even sure what to say as they got into a cab headed for the Yard. He had a hundred questions buzzing in his head, but he doubted Sherlock would answer any of them. It was a good thing Sherlock had gone back to staring distantly out the window, because then he couldn't see the text he sent to the one person who might have those answers.

"Mycroft – we need to talk. JH."