"I don't want to live with him anyway." Was my snide response.

"Well, if we can get a hold of him, you might just have to."

I was silent. I couldn't imagine what living with someone who hated you felt like.

It probably was horrible.

As I was contemplating that, the social worker phoned the number they had down as Sherlock's. My heart was laying waste on itself, arguing. One part was desperately hoping no one would pick up, the other was begging for someone to.

"Is this Sherlock Holmes?" He asked after what felt like an eternity. A shout of victory and defeat. "Hello, this is Frederick O'Reilly. I'm a social worker for St. Anne's Children and Youth Services."

I could hear a muffled response.

"Sir, I was wondering if you knew a lady named Ana Graham."

The worker glanced at me.

"Yes, well, I'm sorry that I'm the one who has to tell you this, but she died last night from a severe case of cancer."

Dead silence. I held my breath.

And then I heard, quite clearly; "The child?"

My father wanted to know about me? I ignored the pounding echoing throughout my body and hoped the armrests on my seat tightly.

"I have her sitting right here... would you like you speak with her?"

My heart screamed at me. The social worker handed me the phone and my hands trembled.

"Kyna?" His voice was strange. It felt unfamiliar to hear it, especially because he knew my name.

"My name is Joss." I said tightly, just to prove him wrong. "Not that you'd care."

There was a terrible silence and I almost handed the phone back to the worker, when he spoke again.

"Your mother is dead."

"Yes." I agreed.

"I'm not sorry."

"Neither am I." The words were out of my mouth against my will. I snapped my mouth shut, horrified at the statement that had just passed my lips.

"I am surprised." He did sound surprised.

"I'm sorry." I apologized stiffly. "That was rude of me.. on her account anyway."

"I don't want you, Kyna." He said, changing the subject.

"My name is Joss and... I don't want you either."

"But I'm aware that I must take you."

"I'll run away."

Sherlock chuckled. It sounded like he was daring me to try.

"And I will find you and bring you back. I'm not stupid, Kyna."

"My name is Joss, and I know that you're not stupid... it's where I get it from."

Silence. Then he hissed "Get what from?"

"My mother wasn't smart. She was actually rather stupid... but... I'm... different. And I know that I don't get it from her."

He took a while thinking about that.

"I think that I have no choice but take you." he finally said and I refrained from digging. "Let me talk to the social worker."

I handed the phone back to the man and crossed my arms.

"We can arrange a meeting." Frederick noted. He rocked back and forth when he was stressed. That meant he was-

Consulting Daughter (BBC Sherlock)Where stories live. Discover now