Sherlock watched her from the passenger seat concerned for her well-being; Damon was driving toward the small sea-side town of Braxton with Myra next to him. Mycroft- when not being a pest- had his uses; he had managed to get Jen off without so much as a trial, but there was still the funeral. It took two months to get the body back and get the funerals arranged as victim's families protested wearing Jen thin, but she took it in silence. As a sign of good faith, Mycroft even manage to get Missy a day pass outside of Rampton to go to the funeral as long as she was watched and took her medication. She sat next to Jen, whose hand she gripped in a vice.

Sherlock promised to go with her to her small town, back home. Peter would be buried next to their father in the local cemetery. As far as Jen knew, it was just going to be her, Sherlock, and Damon there as well as the priest that she managed to sway in her favor. She didn't imagine Robbie would bother; Irene couldn't possibly come; her mother likely had no clue, and Peter's biological father was still unknown. She would be proven wrong.

When they pulled up to the cemetery, they were surprised to see several cars parked outside for the funeral making Jen look to Damon for an answer; she was far too tired to find one herself.

"Damon?" she whispered trying to coax a response out of him. He searched for one in his mind, and finally settled on an answer that wouldn't upset her. She had been delicate as of late, and people were tiptoeing around her.

"Perhaps some people still remember him before he was The Carver," he told her gently gently trying to give her an encouraging smile.

"Perhaps it is some poor mother coming to curse me for my sins," she replied pressing her head against the cold door window despite being the beginning of summer. The winter had dragged on making the country feel desolate.

"You did nothing wrong, Ginny," Sherlock told her firmly, but she wouldn't hear his encouragements.

"I did everything wrong," she replied quietly before they finally exited the car and continue to move toward funeral plot. As they got closer, she could make out a few of the townspeople, and to her surprise, she saw Robbie sitting in one of the chairs in the front row as well as Irene and Susi. "You shouldn't be here," Jen said standing next to Irene. How did she even know? She glanced to Susi, who gave her a weak smile. She had likely gotten a call from Ulric; somehow he knew. He always knew despite having not seen him face to face since the disband of Shadow.

"And let you go through this alone?" she asked gently reaching up and touching her sister's hand. "Never."

"Thank you," she whispered through a cracked voice. She looked to her elder brother. He nodded to her before looking down at the ground trying to remain composed. Perhaps, she had underestimated how much he cared; he looked devastated even if any contact with Peter in the last years had been less than pleasant. But still, Robbie did remember Peter not just as a serial killer but as his only brother. He was still family. "Why did they come?" she muttered looking at the townspeople.

"The man on the far right," Sherlock whispered to her, "is Peter's biological father." She looked to the man, who- now being told- looked a bit like Peter.

"The butcher… sort of makes sense," she admitted before looking at each townsperson. They were some of the kindest people in town. She recognized one of the old teachers from the nearby school, as well as the baker who often gave them the stale bread, the friendly bartender, and the local fishermen, who often acted as a substitute father.

"Jenma," Irene whispered looking up in the distance in surprise. Jen followed her gaze to see a small woman rather gracefully aged coming toward them. Her curly and rather unruly dark hair was the most recognizable feature on her. It was like Jen was looking at her future self. Walking alongside her was a man of average height and of no particularly striking feature.

"Ginny," Sherlock said with frown. He finally had a face to the stories she had told him. He never thought she would look so much like Jen; it was almost terrifying how similar they seemed. It was no wonder Jen had such problems when everyday she woke up to see her mother looking back at her in the mirror. "That's your mother."

"Yes, I know," she told him quietly, so he decided to take it upon himself to point out the less obvious.

"And that's your father," he answered looking at the man next to her mother.

"What?" she asked suddenly looking up at Sherlock. He looked down at her before glancing at her supposed father once more. The signs were all there. "What do you mean that's my father?"

"He's your biological father," he told her causing her to glance up at the man. He looked nothing like her as far as she could see. "It seems they got married."

"It… it doesn't matter," she muttered tilting her head downward as her mother took her place on the opposite side of the coffin from her. She gazed at Jen, who didn't look at her; the woman seemed to be thinking about what to say to her daughter, but she was failing. Jen reached out for a hand and found Sherlock's instead of Damon's. She gripped his hand tight and to her surprise he gently squeezed back to assure her that it would be alright.

"We are here today to honor the memory of Peter Joseph Verown," the Priest began, "brother and friend." He continued with reading a passage of the bible and saying things that simply didn't matter though she supposed they were just lucky to get a man of God to say something for Peter. Everything became sort of surreal as the funeral came on; her brother, her little brother was dead by her hand. In that tiny box, her brother would lie until he decomposed into nothing. She wanted to be sick; she wanted to die. She felt the pit in her stomach grow so vast it was threatening to rip her apart. She couldn't breath; walls were closing in on her. She was suffocating in the open air; she couldn't be here.

"I…," Jen started trying to get out something, anything to get her away from this place.

"Ginny?" Sherlock asked looking down at her. She looked pale and was wavering slightly on her feet.

"I can't," she struggled out before she turned and darted in the opposite direction of the funeral. Sherlock made to go after her, but a woman pushed passed him to get to her first. Sherlock watched unsure what to do as her mother went after her.

"Give them a minute," Damon told him as he watched them as well. He hoped some good would come from Regina Adler talking to Jen. If anyone could understand what was happening to Jen, it was her. He hoped Jen would listen.

Jen stared at the house; it was abandoned with a for sale sign that had been taken over by overgrown weeds. It was now dilapidated and was bending into what was likely a sinkhole deforming the windows' frames causing the glass to shatter in ages ago. What had brought her to this desolate house was haunting memories; she needed to come back; she needed some sort of closure. She had to slam into the door to open it from its bent frame.

She stepped inside letting a cloud of dust rise from under her. She could hear the sound of children screaming and crying. She could see her father lying on the couch drinking watching them go at it yet saying nothing. It stirred up a sob from her throat.

"It doesn't get better, does it?" a woman whispered causing Jen to spin around and lose her balance falling through the kitchen's archway. Her mother looked on in alarm; she hadn't meant to startle her. "Are you okay?" Regina asked going to help her up.

"Don't!" Jen objected scooting back into the kitchen away from her approaching figure. "Don't help! I can help myself." She pulled herself off the ground using the kitchen island as a clutch. She tried dusting herself off but failed with how much dust had settled on the floor. "Why are you here?" she asked bitterly still trying to sweep off the black dress as she pulled herself around the wooden island to separate her from her mother.

"My son's dead," she told her with a frown. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Your son?" she whispered before she laughed sarcastically in disgust. "You knew his for four years of his life. You abandoned us."

"I know," she said with a nod looking to the ground trying to swallow the guilt. How could she explain what seemed to be unexplainable? "I thought it was best."

"Best!? Best!?" she shouted angry with her mother, and it wasn't helping that she was an emotional wreck already. Regina remained a safe distance. "I had to drop out of school to take care of father because of the shambles you left him! I had to raise Irene and Peter by myself! And you thought it was best!?"

"I was not good for you, Gina," she told her trying to make her understand.

"Yeah, well, I guess it runs in the family," she told her leaning against the counter taking deep breaths trying to get a hold of herself, a hold of anything. "I turned Irene into a power hungry blackmailing terrorist, and I turned Peter into psychotic serial killer. I failed them; I failed everyone."

"You failed no one, Gina," Regina told her approaching her cautiously, a wise move. "They became that way because of me, not because of you. I left your life in shambles and ruins, because I thought I knew best, but I was wrong. I should have stayed, and I'm sorry. I am so sorry you've had to go through this."

"Was it so hard to love me, mother?" she asked her bitterly. "I've always felt like I wasn't good enough for you to stay; you didn't love me enough to stay. Why couldn't I be enough for you to stay for your own daughter?"

"No, of course not! How could you think that?" she whispered finally closing the gap and standing directly across from her on the other side of the island. "I love you, Gina. I love you, and I love Robbie, Peter, Irene, and God, help me, I love your father more than anything."

"Then why?" Regina sighed.

"It's not so easy to explain," she admitted to her.

"Try," she demanded as her voice wavered. Regina fidgeted with her hands in a similar way Jen did when she was nervous. "Try!" she demanded again slamming her palms on her hands on the counter making Regina jump.

"Gina," she mumbled, "your father and I didn't meet in a bar; we met in a mental health facility. We fueled each other's madness, and it wasn't healthy. The more time we spent around each other the worse it got, and I had to make a choice. I hoped that with my absence he would try and get better, take his medication, be a father."

"He didn't," she told her. "He started drinking; the experiments got worse."

"I know," Regina told her quietly. "I made a mistake, and I know that I may never receive your forgiveness, but I want to know you. I want to try and be something to you. Can I ask for that?" She slid her hand on Jen's to try and make her see she was sincere.

"How can you ask to know me when I don't even know me?" she asked her pulling away from her mother. She used the opposite counter to lean on as she stared at the ground, reflecting. "I look in the mirror, and it doesn't fit."

"What doesn't?" she wanted to know.

"Me," she replied. "It's like someone painted the image I wanted to see on the mirror. No happiness or sadness or anger fits me. It's all… fake. It's all… the mirror should be cracked, broken. It would look more like me. I feel so lost."

"I felt the same way when I was younger," Regina comforted her. "I understand."

"No," she gave a halfhearted laugh. "No. How could you understand when I don't even understand? I don't understand what I'm trying to say."

"You're trying to say that all the words people describe you as are just lies. They aren't right. You feel lost, and you can't find you. You try and put an adjective to yourself, a picture to you the way you do with everyone, and you can't, because you don't know you. You don't know what you want; you don't know who you are, and it scares the hell out of you. It'll pass."

"It feels hopeless," she told her. "How can I be one person when I look in the mirror and see another?"

"You learn to be that person," Gina told her. "You find people who help you and support you. You find those who will accept you."

"She does a good enough job of that," a baritone voice said making them both jump and look to the doorway.

"Sherlock?" Jen uttered. "What are you doing here?"

"The funeral's over," he told her. "I came on the advice of Damon to see how you are feeling."

"I'll be fine, Sherlock. Thank you," she told him quietly, and she obviously didn't mean it but for now he dropped the subject as his eyes turn to observe Regina, who was observing him.

"Sociopath?" she asked curiously.

"High functioning," he replied. "Borderline Personality Disorder?" he asked, and she gave him a teasing smile making him doubt his assessment of her own disorder.

"Sure. Whatever you want handsome," she mocked him. So this is where Jen got her condescending personality. Interesting. His eyes tried to deduce her, but he was getting nothing besides that she had gotten a good night's sleep.

"So, that's where they got it from," he mused.

"Got what?"

"I can't deduce you," he told her. "Though the insomnia isn't from you."

"Yes, it is," she sang with a grin. "I grew out of it."

"You don't just grow out of a genetic disorder like insomnia. It's a lifelong condition," he told her scoffing at what he presumed to be lies.

"I'm sorry," she gave him a false laugh. "Are you a doctor?"

"No, but-"

"Then shut your mouth," she ordered making him look at her as if he had been struck.

"Well, I- Ginny, let's go. Your mother is annoying me," he growled gesturing to the doorway. She sighed and passed her mother going to him. They walked toward the doorway, but she paused before they could get there.

"I don't want to be around people," she winced imagining having to go to a bar that had some sympathizers and some who just wanted to see her drop dead.

"Stay here," he told her with a nod. "I'll get something we can share." She gave him a slight smile.

"Thank you," she muttered as he pushed the door open to see Regina's husband standing with his hand out as he was about to open the door.

"I'm sorry… I was looking for… wow, you must be Ginevra," he told her breathless as he looked over. "My God, you look like Regina. You have a bit of my mother in you, not much though." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm… I'm Devon Marcus. I um… I'm-"

"My biological father," she told him with a nod.

"You know?" he said surprised as Regina scooted past them to take the place at his side.

"How?" Regina asked.

"Sherlock told me," she said looking up at the man. "He's a consulting detective; he solves cases Scotland Yard can't."

"Really, so what you researched me?" Devon asked teasingly. Sherlock looked him up and down.

"No," Sherlock told him bored. "I can tell you that you are Ginny's father by your entrance, her name, your marriage status, your left hand, and your knees."

"I'm sorry?" he questioned.

"I know you want to," she said with sigh. "Go ahead."

"Ginevra is the first clue about her linage," he told them. "She was named after her mother; she wasn't the first child, yet she was the only one of her siblings to be named after someone. This tells me that she was a favorite. Now, how could she possibly be a favorite so early that her name was to be Ginevra? Simple. Ginny's biological father had to be someone that her mother deeply cared about. You've married Regina, and judging from her mental state, at least, what I can grasp, not many people would consider her as a wife. So you likely had a passed relation with her. You walked to the funeral not sad, but nervous, nervous to meet your daughter, obvious from the creases on your face and that brings me to your left hand. It was twitching in nervousness, likely a physical anomaly not a learned behavior. Ginny does the same thing when she's nervous though she'll deny it. Last would be your knees. You're walking stiffly; the weather's affecting your knees. You need to get a replacement for the metal disk in your right leg. Ginny just had a replace for a bad knee last year. It was inherited from her father."

"Wow," Devon said amazed at the deduction.

"Don't wow at him it inflates his ego," Jen scowled, "and quite frankly, he deduced that your my father from all that, but he could tell you your life story."

"Well, it's nice to see you have good taste in men," Regina told her with a smile.

"We're not a couple," Jen told her quickly before turning on her heels to go wander the house again. Sherlock watched her to make sure she wouldn't do anything stupid while he was gone. He nodded before starting out with Regina and Devon in front of him preparing to enter the car that was waiting for them.

"It was nice meeting you," Regina told him holding out a hand. He looked at it before he found her face again to see a knowing smile. He took her hand. "Do me a favor and at least call me if you get her pregnant. I would like to know my grandchildren." She turned away with a laugh heading to her car.

"We're not-"

"Not yet," she sang out getting in the car leaving him standing there to consider Regina Adler. Despite her past wrongs, Sherlock decided, with an amused smile as he headed to town, he liked her.

It was just the two of them. Damon had to take Myra back to the institution, and Irene and Robbie had gone back to their hiding spots in different countries leaving just Sherlock and Jen to sit against the wall of her childhood bedroom passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Jen was cuddled up against Sherlock. His mind was a little too hazy from the alcohol and the lavender that was coming off her to decide if she was clinging to him due to a need for comfort, a need for human affection, or a need for him. She took the bottle from him and tipped it back. She had drank at least double what he had, and being such a small girl, she was completely sloshed.

"You know," she said airily, "Papa was a… he was an alc… an alc... he drank."

"I know," Sherlock told her patting her head like a good dog.

"Think I'm like him?" she asked taking another drink. He watched her stare at the bottle in annoyance.

"Nah, no, nah," he said shaking his head. "You… you're you, Ginny." She smacked her lips as she took another drink. He took the bottle from her and took his own drink.

"Do you think… do you… should I forgive her?" she asked switching topics enough to make his drunk mind dizzy.

"Your mother?" he asked thinking about what she could possibly be talking about.

"Yeeeaaaahhh," she said putting her chin on his shoulder to look up at him with puppy eyes that was brimming with some sort of desperation. "I'm, she's you know a big jerk, but she's my mummy, you know?"

"I like her," Sherlock told her.

"What?" she laughed successfully falling from his shoulder onto the floor in front of him. "You like her?"

"She's got… she's got an edge like you do, Ginny," he told her. "I like it." Jen laughed and stared up at the ceiling as her smile fell.

"Help me," she whispered before her smile was back, and she turned on her side to stare at him. He shook his head sure this time it was his imagination. She continued to watch him with a slightly pleased smile on her face.

"What?" he asked.

"I love you," she told him quietly.

"That's because you," he said touching her nose with his pointer finger, "are very drunk." She swatted his hand away with a playful smile.

"No," she told him trying her best to act some sort of sober. "I mean it, I really love you; I always will."

"But you said-"

"I lied," she giggled letting herself fall onto the floor and stare at him. "I will never not love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"You know-"

"You'll still be you?" she asked scratching at something invisible on the floor to avoid his eyes. "I know, and I'm okay with that. You just be you, okay?"

"Okay, Ginny," he whispered, and she nodded satisfied as she scooted herself back into his side. He raised his arms allowing her to wrap her arms around his waist. "I'm not sure if it's the alcohol," he told her with a laugh after a minute, "but I'm really happy." But she didn't hear him as she had passed out from all the alcohol in her system. She slept against him seeming content in her sleep; when she would awake, she would be lost again, and it made his happiness fall.

A/N: I should really just say I'm going to update on Fridays, because I always end up updating Fridays not Saturdays. Hmm... well! Anyway, so if you recall, I did say that A Fire To Be Reignited would be in three parts. Well, we have one more chapter until the end of Part One: The Carver, which is very, very exciting as we will slowly get some answers and hopefully some romance of some sort.

Thanks to reviewers: BloodyBlondeVamp, flaming-amber, hannahhobnob, zare . downey . okumura, Cereza101, scarlet tribe, MissKingdom VII, a lovely guest: Kat, and Akira Darkness. See you next Friday! Review please!