A/N: This is the first fanfic I've posted… just a random idea my sister brought up one day and I thought it'd make an interesting story! I love Sherlock Holmes and please, if I make a mistake or change anything that was in the Canon to make it fit a little better with my story, please don't feel offended all you amazing Holmes fans out there! I totally look up to you (as an obsessive Sherlock-fan myself) and I don't want to make anyone upset, so if I make any mistakes or cause any issues just let me know and I'll see if I can make any changes. Gracias :) love you all

"She isn't invited to the funeral. She wouldn't be. He wouldn't have wanted her there."

The short, fat man in the black suit scratched his bald head and nodded vigorously. "So I see. But he… he will be there of course. No?"

"You mean Merlock? Of course he shall be there! He's his brother, for God's sakes!"

"Are ya' sure it's Merlock?"

"I don't know! It's something like that. Besides, who cares? I don't care. We'll cross that bridge when we see him sobbing at carrying on at his big brother's funeral."

The fat man nodded again. "So we shall talk to him then."

"Of course. And that is when we will tell him about… her."

"Which will presumably be quite a surprise to him. I hope he shall take it well."

"Hopefully. I don't have time to deal with crazed relatives. I've got an orphanage to run, and this girl is going to be just like the others. Once she's out, she's out."

Jackie sighed and gazed back out the window. She wondered whether they remembered that she was in the room, or if she had ears at all. Surely they realized that she could hear them.

"And now we can't just take her? And hand her off to him then?" the fat man proceeded to say.

"No, unfortunately not," the tall man replied, sitting down at the large mahogany desk that took up nearly half of the tiny office. "Unfortunately we can't bring her. Mycroft would not have wanted her to be there. I know that for sure."

Jackie sighed again. Honestly, when had he ever wanted her? And so why would his funeral be any different? Now that he was dead, obviously he couldn't say anything about it…

The tall man interrupted her thoughts. "Jacqueline?" he said, glancing up at her.

"It's Jackie," she responded coldly. "Jacqueline was my mother. I prefer to have my own name, thank you."

"Alright then," the tall man said, raising his eyebrows a bit and looking back down at the manila file folder full of paperwork. He seemed slightly flustered as he quickly scanned the documents.

"Please hurry, Ludwig," the fat man said, scratching his head again. "We don't have much time. We need to head to the station as soon as possible."

"I know, I know," the tall man called Ludwig responded. He quickly grabbed his paperwork and stuffed it into a briefcase. "Alright, let's head out."

They began to leave the room while Jackie sat waiting in her chair in the corner. She cleared her throat and leaned forward a bit, trying to catch their attention.

"Oh yes, Jacqueline," the tall man said curtly.

"It's Jackie."

"Whatever. Now, I need you to go back upstairs and pack your things and be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"

"Not like I have much to pack," she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"I thought so."

"Now aren't you going to excuse me? I don't want to sit around in this stuffy office all day."

The tall man glared at her. "You are excused. Now do as you're told."

"Do as you're told," Jackie muttered, pushing them out of the way as she walked back up the stone staircase.

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing!" she shouted behind her, stomping angrily up the stairs.

"I thought so."

The short man raised his thick eyebrows and let out a whistle. "My, have you got your hands full there, Harland Ludwig," he said with a little laugh.

"I know. And I pity this Merlock man who's got to take her in. She's a piece of work, that's what."

"I'm starting to get convinced that it isn't Merlock, maybe… Merlin?"

"Whatever! Good riddance! Just good luck to him, whoever he may be!"

"Good luck to that man, for sure!"

"By far! But no matter what, don't tell him a word of it. She's sweet and friendly, like all the rest of the girls."

"Of course," the fat man said, smiling a toothy grin. "But of course."

"But of course," Jackie mimicked in a high-pitched voice extremely like that of the fat little man. She was kneeling up on the landing, her hands clutching the railing in an almost maniacal fashion. She glared at Harland Ludwig and his overweight accomplice.

"Mycroft never wanted me at all," she muttered. "This isn't any different. This isn't some big surprise. So why am I so mad about all of this?"

She sat back on her heels and watched as the two men shook hands and left the orphanage via the heavy wooden double doors.

"Bitter, I guess," she said, answering her own question. "I was just mad from the start. This isn't any different. And plus that, they have no right to ship me away to some foreign relative! I didn't sign up for this! I have a free right! And I don't want to go!"

Of course, that was a lie, and she knew it. She wanted more than anything to be free of the grayness and drabness of the orphanage. But she had to lie to herself to remain strong. She wasn't going to let some skinny guy and his fat little buddy push her around.

Jackie let out an angry sigh and stood up, brushing some dust off her skirt. Even though she wasn't fond of losing her battles, she let it rest and slowly retreated back towards the sleeping quarters.

The so called "sleeping quarters" was nothing more than a large room with rows and rows of cots. Currently there were children running all over, jumping on the beds. Jackie sighed, longing for a bit of peace and quiet, and slowly pushed her way towards her cot in the center of the third row.

"What's wrong, Jackie?"

She looked up as Peter O'Shaunesy, her eight-year-old best friend, walked over and sat down beside her on the cot. He was obviously a good four years younger than she was, but she hardly cared. No one else wanted to be her friend anyway, and no one wanted to be Peter's friend, so they were a good match for each other. Besides, he was a good listener and always went along with everything, even Jackie's crazy plots.

"I'm just getting shipped out of the orphanage, that's all," Jackie replied, tears flooding her eyes. She had never dreamed that leaving the old, drafty, smelly orphanage would be a sad thing, but yet now it was.

"Oh Jackie! I'll miss you so!" Peter exclaimed, hugging her close. "But don't worry – you'll enjoy your life outside of the orphanage. It will be just like you always said in your dreams – a loving family, a beautiful house… and they'll sign you up for French lessons, just like you wanted! And you can learn to play the piano… Jackie, it will be just like you always said it would be."

"If only," she said despairingly. "I wish you were right. But I'm just not sure… apparently I'm just being sent to some relative who doesn't even know I'm coming, and who doesn't even want me!"

Peter frowned. "You'll do fine, Jackie. You're good at making friends."

She rolled her eyes. "Peter, you're my only friend. And you made friends with me, not the other way around."

"I'm trying to make this more optimistic, Jackie. You're not helping."

"Sorry."

The two sat there for a little longer, both crying softly. After a while, Jackie shrugged and decided that she might as well start packing.

"Just remember, Jackie," Peter said, standing up, about to go back over towards his bed, "I'll always be there for you. Write me if you need anything. And Jackie… you'll be fine. Maybe this relative will be just like you."

Jackie scoffed. "Those men say I'm a handful."

"Not a handful," Peter replied with a smile, giving her a friendly pat on the back like only a little eight-year-old can do. "Maybe he'll be adventurous, brave, and smart, just like you. And he'll have to be clever. What do you think?"

"I guess I can only dream," Jackie responded, smiling.

And that's all she could do anyway – dream. She had less than twelve hours now before she'd be heading off to unknown territory.