This is an AU of my AU fic, The Family Business (in which Sherlock Holmes has a teenager daughter, Elspeth). This can also be considered an AU of my AU fic, Paper Moons and Silly String (a prequel to The Family Business). Hopefully this fic makes sense on its own; context is provided in my other fics.

Like a small boat

On the ocean

Sending big waves

Into motion

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

6.

She's never heard of her estranged Uncle James on her mother's side, so Elspeth glares suspiciously at him when the social worker – she's gushing about how wonderful it is he's come to visit her after all these years – isn't looking and presses her lips into a tight line, refusing to return the secretive smirk he's sending her way. She's tall for her age, but he's a lot taller. He has dark hair and even darker eyes that gleam, and it's almost as if he's thinking I know something you don't know, which only makes Elspeth even more suspicious of him. She doesn't know this man.

He suggests to the social worker that she leave them alone so they can get reacquainted. Elspeth stands her ground and refuses to move.

"I don't have an Uncle James," she says. "Who are you?"

"Jim Moriarty. Hiiiiii." He puts on a ridiculously high pitched voice. "I know who you are," he continues in a normal voice, his Irish accent light and lilting. "Little Elspeth Holmes – or do you prefer Ellie? I know all about you. Mummy's an alcoholic, Daddy doesn't want to know. You're just little orphan Ellie, aren't you?"

"Shut up," she snaps back at him. She clenches her fists. "You don't know anything about me."

"Ooh, feisty," he teases, strolling towards her. "Does it hurt, knowing there's no one in the world who cares about you?" Jim crouches in front of her so they're the same height, his dark eyes piercing hers. "It makes you very angry, doesn't it? It makes you want to make them pay."

Elspeth stays quiet for a few seconds. "I don't care about my Mum," she admits. She's heard the adults whisper, and the older kids tell her that mummy is probably dead in a ditch with an empty bottle of wine in her cold hand. "She's probably dead."

"What a grim thought."

She bites down on her bottom lip; Elspeth knows she shouldn't smile at that. "I've never met my Dad," she says. "I met my Uncle once. My real Uncle. He wasn't very nice, he didn't smile a lot or hug me when he said goodbye. He said . . ." Her voice trails off. It's been several years since she saw Mycroft Holmes. She vaguely remembers his stiff posture and his refusal to hug her. "He's giving me money, but I can't have it, which is stupid because why would he give me money if I can't have it yet?"

Jim doesn't answer her question. He does smirk though, and she doesn't understand why. "That's why I'm here, Ellie," he says. Her name rolls off his tongue, and Elspeth decides she quite likes being called Ellie. It's short and playful. Jim reaches out to tuck a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. "I'm here to help you make your daddy pay."

Frowning, Elspeth gazes back at him. "How," she says. "will we do that?"

Jim smiles back.

7.

Laura has always been mean to Elspeth, but she's being especially spiteful the day Elspeth loses her temper. She follows Elspeth down the corridor, calling her Smelly Ellie and telling her that her mother is probably dead in a ditch with an empty bottle of wine in her hand, and Elspeth tries to ignore every single one of Laura's taunts, aware that she's just repeating what the adults have been saying for years. It's hard though.

"No one wants you," Laura says. She pushes herself in front of Elspeth so she has no choice but to look at her. "Not even your stupid pretend Uncle Jim."

Elspeth stares at her. "You read my diary," she says, realisation dawning on her. She digs her heels into the ground, clenches her fists, and feels her anger rising. "You read my diary." It's more than she can truly comprehend. She's trembling. "I hate you!"

Laura just smirks back at her.

Lunging forwards, Elspeth grabs Laura by her hair – the straight, blonde hair she's always been jealous off – and drags her down the corridor, throwing her against the wall with more strength than she realises she has. Elspeth pushes Laura a little too hard. The blonde girl stumbles, slips on the edge of the step, and tumbles backwards before either one can do anything. Elspeth's heart misses a beat. There are several thuds as Laura bumps against the stairs, rolling and falling and yelling out, but then she falls silent when she reaches the bottom, barley moving. Elspeth isn't even sure if she's breathing. Someone sees Laura and screams. One of the social workers calls an ambulance while another crouches in front of Elspeth, demanding to know if she knows what happened. Later that day, when she wakes up, Laura tells everyone that Elspeth pushed her.

She's sent to a different care home the next day. No one says goodbye to her.

9.

"I want to see Jim Moriarty."

The blonde lady at the desk – it's not natural, Elspeth realises, when she sees the dark roots at the top of her head – looks up. Her too-red lips spread into a forced smile.

"Where are your parents, sweetie?" she asks.

Elspeth grits her teeth, jutting her chin out. "I want to see Jim Moriarty," she repeats. "Now."

She thinks the receptionist might refuse and turn her away, preparing to make a fuss. There's no need; the woman at reception tells her to take a seat. Elspeth wonders if Jim'll come see her in reception. She looks a mess. Her hair is an unruly mess, her face is dirty, and she's certain she still smells of smoke.

Before long, she's told she can go up to Jim's office, given directions to get there. She goes through a door, then up several flights of winding staircases because the elevator is broken, round and round the labyrinth of twisting corridors until she almost feels dizzy. When Elspeth finally reaches the door to the office, she knocks (just in case). It's a few seconds before she hears him call, "Come in!" in the ridiculously high pitched voice he likes to use. It makes Elspeth wonder if he's been expecting her. She pulls her rucksack of belongings – she doesn't have many – further up her shoulders, lifts her head high, and storms into the office with a surprisingly confident attitude. It's almost as if she isn't confronted with two much older, taller men.

"Why is your office up here?" she demands. She closes the door behind her. "There's loads of empty rooms downstairs, and you're all the way up here."

Jim smirks, looking up at the man standing next to him. "Now," he purrs. "Is that any way to greet someone?" He's sitting at his desk with a lazy posture, leaning back in his chair. He doesn't look like someone running a business. "I'm all the way up here because no one ever gets to me."

She screws her nose up. "That doesn't make any sense."

He just smirks back. "Now, my dear, what can we do for you?"

"I left my foster family. I'm not going back and you can't make me." She doesn't add that she set fire to their sofa before she left. Elspeth rolls the sleeves of her second-hand hoodie up and folds her arms, glaring at Jim and the other man. She doesn't know who he is; she does know he has a gun in his pocket. "I want to make my Dad pay. I want to work with you."

The man next to Jim laughs. "I see what you mean," he says. "How old are you, kid?"

"I'm not a kid, I'm nine."

"Nine," he repeats. "Jesus Christ, Jim, you can't actually be considering –"

"Play nice, Sebastian," Jim interrupts. He hasn't taken his eyes off Elspeth since she's arrived, and though his gaze is so intense it makes her want to squirm, she doesn't. She refuses to. She won't back down or look away, determined to make herself heard even if it's the last thing she does. Elspeth had been craving Jim's company the way a junkie craved their next fix, thinking about all his visits and how they talked – about his business, about Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, about how unlike ordinary people they are. Jim makes Elspeth feel special in a way no one else does. "Maybe it isn't such a bad idea . . . no one would suspect a beautiful girl like little Ellie Holmes."

No one has ever called Elspeth beautiful before. Her cheeks turn pink.

"I'm not going back to the home," she insists.

"Of course not." Jim sounds horrified. "No, no, no, we can't have that, can we, Sebastian? We need you here, close, so I can keep an eye on you." He smiles. "Sebastian, don't be so rude. Get our guest something to drink."

Sebastian looks like he might refuse, or tell Jim where to stick his drink, but settles for glaring at Elspeth as he passes. She glares right back. He's taller than Jim, and very broad. His shoulders are wide, his muscles are thick, and he's rather intimidating when he strides out of the office. Dropping her bag on the floor, Elspeth falls onto the sofa by the wall and watches as Jim sits next to her, their shoulders brushing together. He's beautiful. She's only young, but even she knows just how beautiful Jim Moriarty is.

"Are you really going to let me stay?" she asks.

Jim tucks her hair behind her ear, tapping Elspeth under the chin. "Of course. I'm a man of my word, Ellie, I would never lie to you."

11.

She gets a penknife for her birthday, and Jim's fingers are gentle when he bandages the large cut on the palm of Elspeth's hand. Sebastian laughs. She accidentally-on-purpose stabs him in the hand with a fork.

14.

Sebastian takes her to the shooting range. Elspeth wants Jim to go with them, but he has to work, so she's stuck with Sebastian Moran for a few hours. He's a lot rougher than Jim. He forces a gun into her hand, manhandling her into position as he pulls and tugs her, telling her how to stand. Elspeth imagines the target is his face.

15.

He's dark eyed and pale skinned, and though he's nowhere near as handsome, Alex reminds Elspeth a little of Jim. That's probably why she fancies him so much. She doesn't know why he fancies her. She's just the weird girl who sits in the corner of the library with a new book every week and he's a cute, if not a little nervous, boy who has his pick of pretty girls to talk to. He chooses to talk to her though.

They meet up in the library most days. They sit side by side in the library, reading. Sometimes they share a book, sometimes they read their own and swap comments, telling each other their favourite parts. Alex and Elspeth eat together as well, in the small café in the corner of the upper floor on the library. He always pays. They eat a half a sandwich each, take it in turns to have a crisp from the packet, and break the chocolate bar into halves. Alex lets Elspeth take the bigger half.

He holds her hand when she lets him walk her home. Elspeth feels like the most important girl in the world. She swings their arms in unison, walks with a spring in her step, and hums like she's in the opening number of a musical. Jim lives at the top floor of a block of apartments, and when they reach the front door to the building, Alex kisses her.

Admittedly, it isn't great to begin with. Their chins bump together. Elspeth's nose presses against Alex's cheek, so it's a little hard to breathe. She turns her head one way as he tilts his the opposite, and suddenly their lips are moving in sync and nothing matters anymore.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Elspeth lurches away from Alex. She stares at Jim in horror, watching his dark eyes flicker between her and Alex. "I . . . uh," she stammers. She knows how to get her point across most of the time; Jim makes her feel like an idiot. "Erm – Alex – Alex is . . . this is my friend."

"Mmm," is all Jim says. He deliberately walks between them and holds the door open with a bored expression, giving Elspeth no choice but to follow. She promises to meet Alex in the library again tomorrow. He smiles and kisses her on the cheek before ambling off in the opposite direction.

Alex isn't at the library the next day, or the day after that. Elspeth doesn't see him for a week.

His body is found in the Thames.

She screams. She throws plates and glasses to the floor, watching them shatter as she storms towards Jim, who watches her with an infuriating smirk. Elspeth throws her hands in the air. She looks like she wants nothing more than to strangle him, but she settles for pounding her fists against his chest as she yells, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Why? Why, why, why?" Tears stream down Elspeth's cheeks. She feels like a child throwing a tantrum. "I hate you so much!"

Jim catches her wrists. He's much stronger than her. He forces her back into the kitchen counter and holds her there while looming over her. Everything about Jim says I'm bigger and stronger than you, and we're going to play by my rules. Elspeth doesn't move. She can barely breathe. She knows he won't hurt her – he's never hurt her – but she's seen him shout and strike people in anger before, and there's no reason why he shouldn't do the same to her. Jim doesn't need to though. All it takes for him to control Elspeth is a look. She realises she's out of control, closing her eyes as she tries to collect her, but it's so hard with Jim's fingers digging into her bones and his hot breath against her neck. It just makes her angrier.

"Because," Jim murmurs. He steps closer, lowers his head, and lets his lips brush against her ear as he continues. "my dear, he was a horrible, nasty distraction, and I don't want grubby hands pawing at what's mine." His eyes flicker up and down Elspeth's body. She swallows past the lump in her throat. "I only did it for you, Ellie, love. Do you understand?"

Elspeth bites her lip. She nods once.

Jim let's go of her and cradles her face as he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, pausing for a few seconds before then placing a chaste kiss to her lips. It's the sort of kiss a parent might bestow on their infant child. He'll only ever see her as a child. Elspeth is determined to make him see she is a woman.

The next day, she crushes sleeping pills with a spoon and puts them in Jim's tea. It isn't until the room starts spinning that Elspeth realises he knows what she's done and swapped the cups, and the last thing she sees is his smirking face before she loses consciousness. She wakes up later the same day – or is the next? – in a room that isn't her own, the sheets of the hospital bed scratchy beneath her hands as she gropes for something to hold onto. Elspeth can hear the heart monitor next to her. She scowls at the sound.

"What . . .?" she chokes out, her voice hoarse. Elspeth's throat feels like someone has been rubbing sandpaper across it.

"How's your throat?" Jim asks. "I've heard a stomach pump can be quite painful." He's told them she's overdosed. Elspeth glares at him, too sore to reply. "Sleeping pills. I expected better from you." He doesn't sound angry. He sounds like he's trying not to laugh.

"I'll use bleach next time," she promises.

16.

Jeff Hope is dying of an aneurysm. Elspeth sits in the back of his taxi and tells him how sorry she is to hear about her condition, and a part of her actually means it. She gives him the money he's owed. He promises to deposit it into his bank account the next morning, pocketing it with a satisfied smile. His children will have something to inherit when he dies, at least. It's only a few years until Elspeth can access her trust fund Mycroft pays money into.

"This next job is quite important," she tells him. "It's essential this one goes as smoothly as the others."

"What's their name?"

Elspeth holds the envelope for a few seconds. It's got all the information Jeff needs, but suddenly she's reluctant to give it to him, wondering if she really wants to. Jim will kill her if she doesn't.

"Sherlock Holmes."

It isn't the aneurysm that kills Jeff in the end. It's a bullet.

Elspeth sneaks into the crowd gathering outside the building, watching as the body is brought out with a white sheet over it. She catches a glimpse of him. He's tall and thin, with locks of curly hair that is the same colour and texture of her own. Elspeth can't take her eyes off him. She's seen photos of him, but they're nothing compared to actually seeing him in real life and she finds herself not wanting to look away from him. He's almost an illusion. Elspeth's afraid he'll disappear if she blinks. She takes a step closer. No one will notice the teenage girl in a hoodie pushing her way through the crowd. Elspeth almost wishes he'll notice her, though. She's about to leave when he turns. Her heart leaps. He looks straight at her, their eyes meeting for a second, and his brow furrows slightly before his gaze focuses on someone else. Another man. Elspeth knows she shouldn't get her hopes up.

She's walking away past the two men when she catches part of their conversation, stopping.

"Moriarty."

"What's Moriarty?"

"I've absolutely no idea," he says cheerfully.

Later that evening, Jim isn't happy Sherlock Holmes knows his name. He's ecstatic. Elspeth gives him the news tentatively, and she's blown away by the way he pulls her close and kisses her so hard she can't breathe for a few seconds. It's an action without any sentiment behind it. Jim's eyes sparkle as he grins from ear to ear. He almost looks manic. He sounds manic, talking about Sherlock Holmes and the game and all the work that goes into it, pacing back and forth, stopping to laugh with his head thrown back so far his neck almost looks reptilian. Elspeth grins. She stops grinning when Jim's mood suddenly changes, his eyes darkening as he snaps his head round to look at her. He isn't happy with Elspeth.

"Why were you there?" he demands. "Are you some sort of idiot? Were you trying to get seen?"

"No, no," Elspeth stammers. "I – I – I –"

"I – I – I –" Jim mimics. "You IDIOT." He yells the last word in her face, shaking her so the world spins and her head aches and she can't stop the tears from spilling over. "No, no, no, you don't get to cry. You brought this on yourself, you stupid, stupid girl." He grabs Elspeth's face with one hand. His fingers dig into her skin. There will be red marks when he lets go of her, she's certain of it, but right now all she can focus on is the terrifying look in his eyes. "I should've known you're more trouble than you're worth. I should've left you in the home when I had the chance."

Elspeth chokes over the sobs rising in her throat. "Don't – don't say that –"

She hears the slap before she feels it. Before she realises it, Elspeth is on the floor and clutching her burning cheek while Jim walks away with a look of disgust on his face.

She runs into Sebastian on her way out. Literally. He's striding up the stairs of the flats while she's bounding down them, crashing head first into his chest and stumbling backwards. Sebastian catches Elspeth before she can fall. He looms over her, takes in her red eyes and sore cheek and tear stained shirt, and shakes his head as he lets go of her again. Elspeth hears him call her a stupid kid under his breath; he always calls her that. For once, she doesn't fight with him. She runs all the way to the ground floor and, with nowhere else to go, sits on the bottom step for the rest of the evening. It's pathetic. She's pathetic. She doesn't go back upstairs until Sebastian passes her, pausing only to tell Elspeth he's left the door unlocked so she can get back in.

Jim doesn't say anything when she opens the door. He doesn't look at her. He's sitting in the darkness, his profile illuminated by the lights streaming from the outside through the windows, and the only movement he makes is the seemingly random rhythm he's tapping with his finger. Elspeth closes the door.

"You understand," Jim says finally. "why I got so angry."

Elspeth's voice trembles. "Yes."

He's quiet. Jim turns his head a fraction, gesturing for Elspeth to join him on the sofa. She curls up by his side and buries her face in his chest when he wraps a loose arm around her shoulders, not pulling her close like he normally does; he doesn't push her away though. Elspeth takes it as an encouraging sign.

"It's all about the dance, my dear," Jim tells her in a low voice. He begins to play with her hair. "You can't just rush into these things. No . . . you have to be patient, you have to take your time, you have to savor the moment. Remember?"

"I remember."

"Good girl."

She stays away after that.

More people die. Elspeth doesn't know their names, or their faces, or if they have friends and family who mourn for them when they hear the news. She doesn't ask Jim about them. She cries a little for each one, though. Elspeth lets herself break down at night and cry for the strangers who have died, but only for a few minutes. She can't spend her life crying for every person who dies. Jim doesn't care, of course, because they're only collateral damage. He's happy as long as no one gets to him.

It hasn't been long since the flats exploded, and Elspeth finds herself in the gallery of a swimming pool, stuck between Sebastian and a kind looking woman who introduces herself as Mary. She doesn't look she kills people for a living. She looks like someone who bakes her own bread and takes the dog for a walk on a Sunday morning, but Elspeth doesn't have long to dwell on it before Sebastian thrusts a gun into her hands, hissing for her to keep it as still as she can. It's heavy. Really heavy. Elspeth has never held a gun this heavy before, her hands clammy as she adjusts her grip on it. She almost drops it when she sees him.

"Brought you a little getting to know you present," Sherlock calls. What is he doing here? "Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance – all to distract me from this." Why is he here? Is that why she's here? Is tonight the night? Elspeth doesn't feel ready, her heart racing and thoughts racing through her mind. She barely pays attention to his brief conversation with the other man – Doctor John Watson, Elspeth remembers numbly – and swallows when Jim finally makes his grand appearance, strolling forwards without a care in the world. Elspeth trembles. She knows Sebastian can feel her shaking because, a moment later, he elbows her in the side hard enough to make her tip into Mary, who gives them both a sideways glance. This isn't the time to be acting like prats.

Jim's eyes flicker upwards, his smirk growing. He can't see Elspeth, she's certain of it, but it feels like he can.

Sebastian aims at John when he grabs Jim from behind, and Mary aims straight at Sherlock's head. John lets go.

"If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you," Jim threatens. "I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true."

When Sebastian and Mary aim a final time, Elspeth joins them, pointing her gun straight at the back of Sherlock's head. She puts pressure on the trigger. One shot. One shot is all it will take for it to be over. She doesn't care if it's part of the plan. If Sherlock Holmes can play the hero for his flatmate, risk his life for him, why couldn't he have taken her out of care like Jim did? Why couldn't he have played dad? Elspeth is seconds away from pulling the trigger before Jim snaps his fingers without so much as a glance over his shoulder, disappearing through the doors with his phone pressed to his ear. Though she gives the gun up without much of a fight, Elspeth glares at Sebastian. She could've done it.

17.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Elspeth doesn't dare open her eyes. "If you say so."

Jim's hand is on her waist, his nose nuzzling her hair as his chest vibrates; he's laughing at her. "There are so many bad, bad things out there, and you're afraid of heights," he murmurs. He leans even closer to her. "I hope it isn't genetic."

"I don't think that's possible."

His lips brush against her cheek, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. Elspeth opens her eyes. She stares at Jim. They're sitting on the edge of the roof together, Bart's Hospital looming impressively over the other buildings, and though she wants nothing more than to bury her face in Jim's shoulder, Elspeth is forcing herself to keep her head up. She's forgotten her fear of heights momentarily. Jim's eyes are dark and gazing at her with a strange sort of tenderness she doesn't think she's ever seen before. When Jim touches her cheek with his fingertips, Elspeth leans into his touch, smiles a little, and briefly imagines her life with him after the day is over.

"What are you thinking?" he asks her softly. Elspeth bites her lips. "Don't look at me like that, Ellie, I know you. I know when you're happy, I know when you're sad, I know when you're angry . . . I especially know when you're thinking, so why keep all those thoughts tucked up in your pretty little head?"

"Are we going to leave London? When all this is done, I mean."

"Do you want to?"

"No . . . London is my home. Our home."

Jim looks at her for a long time. "Then you shouldn't have to leave," he says. Elspeth smiles back at him, her heart racing when he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to her lips. "Thank you. Thank you, Ellie Holmes for being so extraordinary." He's gazing at her like she's the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on; Elspeth imagines waking up to those eyes every day for the rest of her life. "It's been quite a dance, hasn't it? But in the end, it was so worth the wait . . ." His voice trails off as he laughs under his breath, like he's sharing an inside joke Elspeth doesn't understand. "It's over now, Ellie, the game is over. And I couldn't have done any of this without you." Jim's grin is manic, his eyes shining wildly as he holds Elspeth's chin, his fingers pressing in hard enough to hurt. She tries to pull away. He forces her to look at him. "He always wants things to be clever. We're the clever ones, Ellie, and this –" Jim scoffs. "– has all been so easy."

"I don't understand," Elspeth whispers.

"We're going to make your daddy pay," Jim says in a high pitched, sing song voice. "Do you remember that? We've made him pay. I used the thing that should've mattered to him the most and I used it against him."

He takes his hand away. Elspeth scrambles away from him and to her feet, staring at him. She feels like her world has come crashing down around her. She's been listening to Jim for years, hanging onto every word he says, doing whatever he tells her, only to find out he's been using her just to get to Sherlock. Elspeth bites her lip. She's going to throw up. Her hands tremble so much she has to clench them into fists, and Elspeth has the sudden urge to charge forwards and push Jim over the edge of the roof, knowing he won't survive like Laura did when she fell down the stairs. She's loved Jim her whole life. Now she hates him. Jim just watches her. His lips tilt into a small smirk as he waits. He knows he's made her angry, he knows he's crushed her, he knows she's torn between crying and punching him. Jim just can't wait to see what Elspeth does.

Taking in a deep breath, Elspeth turns and walks away.

It would've been easier to run, but Elspeth forces herself to walk, counting each step in her mind so she can focus on something and let the anger drain away. She gets to the bottom of the stairs. Elspeth closes her eyes, wipes the tears from her cheeks, and opens the door.

"Sorry," Elspeth mutters when she bumps into someone. She looks up. Her heart skips a beat.

Sherlock stands in front of her, his mouth open to say something – is he going to apologise for walking into her? – but no words coming out when their eyes meet. He frowns at her. Elspeth thinks she can scoot around him and carry on like they're just two strangers who have happened to cross paths, but Sherlock looms over her as his eyes widen in recognition, his eyebrows pulling together as he tries to work out how he recognises her. Elspeth considers telling him. She also considers telling him why Jim is on the roof and what he has planned, but she hates both men so much for destroying her life that she keeps her mouth clamped shut, staring up at Sherlock with fresh tears in her eyes.

"You," is all Sherlock can say before Elspeth mutters another apology, darting past him. She doesn't care what happens to either of them. They can both die for all she cares.

18.

Jim's dead. Elspeth has taken her belongings from his flat and set fire to his clothes, just to make herself feel better; she almost wishes Jim has miraculously survived a bullet to the head just so he can come home to the ashes. He shot himself in the head. Elspeth can't imagine a worse way to go. There isn't a gravestone to visit – not that she would, anyway – but occasionally, she goes past the hospital and looks up at the roof, wondering what it must've been like for Jim and Sherlock. She wonders if it hurt when Jim shot himself, if Sherlock was scared when he jumped.

She visits Sherlock's gravestone. It's been a little over year since the funeral. She didn't attend, but she knows Mycroft Holmes and John Watson did.

Elspeth walks across the graveyard. It's eerily silent and she wraps her arms around herself, pulling her coat closer as she fights against the autumn wind. There are still some flowers by the grave. Sherlock has a lot of admirers, even after his death and the suggestions that Jim Moriarty never existed, and it's almost touching to think that so many people can remain loyal to a man they barely knew. It makes Elspeth's stomach twist uncomfortably. She's seen John Watson a couple of times; she knows how hard Sherlock's death has hit him. She could've prevented it. Biting her lip, Elspeth pauses in front of the grave and hesitates before lowering herself to her knees, reaching out to trace the inscription with her fingertips.

"I wonder," she says aloud. "how different would it have been if you actually wanted me?"

"You would've come to my funeral, for starters," a voice replies from behind her. Elspeth jumps, turns around, and stares.

"I thought you were meant to be dead."

Sherlock has the decency to fake sheepishness. "Meant to be, yes," he agrees. He narrows his eyes at Elspeth as she rises to her feet. "You were there the night Jeff Hope died."

"The evening in the pool, and the day you were supposed to die," Elspeth says. She stuffs her hands in her pockets.

"You hated me." It's a statement, not a question, but Elspeth nods. Sherlock doesn't look upset, or angry, or hurt. He looks accepting. "You still hate me," Sherlock continues. "Would it help if I apologised?"

"I honestly don't think anything you say can help." Elspeth swallows past the lump in her throat. This is her chance to say everything she's ever wanted to say to him. "I was in care for years, you know that? Because my sorry excuse of a mother couldn't get her act together – she used to leave me at home alone so she could go get drunk. I would go for days without eating before they finally took me away, and then I find out I have a dad who doesn't even want me!" She tries not to let the tears fall. "I heard one of the social workers on the phone to you once, trying to convince you to come visit me. I was four, and I just found out neither of my parents wanted me. So Jim comes along, makes me feel wanted, and all you can do is offer an apology?"

"I've acted selfishly –"

"You're closer to a stranger who you've been living with a couple of years than you are to your own daughter," Elspeth says. "I've seen you around London, laughing and doing cases and having lunch together. If you can do that lame, domestic routine with a friend, why couldn't you have done it with me?" She runs her hands through her hair, looking away momentarily. "I just wanted my Dad. That's all I ever wanted. Is that too much to ask?" Sniffing, Elspeth glances at Sherlock. "What are you doing here anyway? If everyone in London thinks you're dead, London is the last place I would come."

"I have some leads," Sherlock says. Elspeth can't tell if her outburst has upset him; his expression is almost unfathomable. "I'm dismantling Moriarty's network. It's taken me some time, but I have connections."

"I hope you're not expecting me to help you."

"Of course not."

Elspeth bites her lip. She reaches for the inside pocket of her coat and takes out a small black book she's been carrying around since she left Jim's. Inside are all his contacts, every client he's ever dealt with, because even a great man like Jim Moriarty can't remember that many names and numbers. Opening it, she rips out the last page. It's the only page with one name scribbled in it; Sebastian Moran. She hates the man, but she decides she'll give him a head start, even if he has been calling her a stupid kid since the day they met.

"Here." She steps forwards, holding the book out to Sherlock. "Don't tell anyone I gave it to you."

Sherlock takes the book, flicks through it, and tucks it into the pocket of his long coat. "Thank you," he says, sounding sincere. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. I have money from Mycroft –" Elspeth tries not to smile at the grimace that appears on Sherlock's face when she mentions his brother. "– so I might get a flat somewhere. Or travel. I haven't decided yet." She sighs. "Well, I'd better go . . . I guess I'll see you around, maybe. If you don't get killed again, that is."

"Elspeth," Sherlock calls when she turns to walk away. It's the first time she's ever heard him say her name. "I'm sorry."

Elspeth hesitates. "Yeah," she says. "So am I."

19.

Sherlock is back from the dead. John Watson has married Mary Morstan. Jim Moriarty's face is on every TV screen in London, repeating the same phrase over and over, and Elspeth has no idea how it got there. Did you miss me? It's almost like he's taunting her.

A car pulls up outside 221B Baker Street. Elspeth is standing across the road, waiting. She sees Mycroft Holmes, and John and Mary Watson, and finally Sherlock. If he sees her, they'll talk. She waits. Elspeth feels like she's spent her entire life waiting, but it's worth it when Sherlock looks over at her and says something to John Watson before crossing the street. He looks like he's trying not to smile. Elspeth is glad someone is pleased to see her.

"You've seen it, then."

"Kind of hard not to," Elspeth says. "You probably won't believe me, but I have nothing to do with this." She doesn't. She's spent all this time thinking that Jim Moriarty is dead, so she's just as surprised as everyone else is to see his face once more.

"I believe you." Sherlock gives Elspeth a stern look. "You know him better than any of us."

"I don't know how he's done it . . . it might not even be him." Elspeth thinks of Sebastian Moran. "There are still people who support him. Anyone could've done this." She bites her bottom lip. "It doesn't mean he's still alive." Sherlock raises an eyebrow. Elspeth knows he's wondering who she's trying to convince; him or herself. She's not entirely sure. "I'll do anything I can to help."

"Do you want to come in?" Sherlock asks. Elspeth stares at him. "You do know him better than we do, and you won't be much help standing outside for the rest of the day."

Elspeth glances over his shoulder, looking across at Mycroft and John and Mary. Her uncle is watching them closely, focusing on Sherlock, and John looks really confused. His eyebrows are pulling together as his eyes flicker between Sherlock and Elspeth, glancing at Mycroft every now and then in case he's missing something, and Elspeth can't help but remember the first night she met Mary. Does Mary remember still? She may recognise Elspeth. She hasn't changed that much since that night. She's not entirely sure if she'll be welcome in Baker Street, or how John and Mycroft will react when they find out she's been working with Jim for most of her life.

"Will they be ok with that?"

Sherlock looks across the road as well. "Probably not," he admits, screwing his nose up as he tries not to laugh. Elspeth does the same. Their eyes crinkle in the corners the same way when they laugh. "It's my house, and I'm inviting you in." He pauses again. "Elspeth, I –"

"Ellie," she interrupts. "It's Ellie." This is all she's ever wanted. "And ok. I'd like that."

He smiles at her, and after a few seconds, Elspeth smiles back.

This is my fight song

Take back my life song

Prove I'm alright song

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me