Father and Daughter

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Kyna's POV:

When I woke, it was to a tangle of sheets and pillows. I froze, momentarily unaware of where I was. Dust particles floated in the air above me and I focused on them to calm down. I didn't remember going from the armchair to the bed, but I suppose I could have done it in my sleep. It wasn't an uncommon thing for people to do. I carefully dragged my eyes across the room I was in.

I was lying in a large bed with silk sheets. The wallpaper hurt my eyes. A periodic table poster hung beside the door. I liked it. I saw that my luggage had been moved to the foot of the bed and I crawled over to it, rifling through to find my favorite pair of jeans and my most comfortable sweater. It had patterns of black birds all over it. I pulled a pair of thick woolen socks over my feet and padded over to the bathroom, where I brushed my teeth and tried, unsuccessfully, to brush my hair. The resulting mess was larger than before so I impatiently pulled it back into a messy bun. I really was fighting a losing battle.

Sherlock was not in the kitchen when I went in to find breakfast. Instead, Mrs Hudson was bent over the kettle. She smiled when she saw me.

"Hello, dear."

"Hello, Mrs Hudson." I yawned and my eyes watered. "Is that bacon?"

"It was." She sighed and poked the offending meat with her spatula. "It was starting to smell funny. I think Sherlock has been playing around with it." She shook her head. "I don't think meat is supposed to be blue."

"How unfortunate," I said, trying very hard not to laugh. I mustn't giggle, I reminded myself.

Instead, I accepted the cup of tea she passed to me and opened my book.

"Is that a new one?" She asked.

I nodded. "I've started reading the Lord of the Rings series again."

"It sounds lovely, dearest."

"It is," I agreed. I was comfortable, sitting in the kitchen, sipping tea and reading with this woman. She was very homey and kindly.

I wondered if all of Sherlock's friends were like that and I was suddenly itching to know something.

"Mrs Hudson, where is Sherlock's flatmate?"

"You must mean John, dear."

I shrugged. "He never mentioned a name."

"I suppose he wouldn't. That's just like him." She chuckled. "John is on his honeymoon, with his wife. She's really very nice. Her name is Mary."

I raised an eyebrow. "Does he miss him?"

"Of course he does, dear. They were very close."

A large bang notified both of us that the front door had been slammed open.

"Goodness!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed. "That was a noise, wasn't it?" She shook her head in indignation.

I laughed and strained to see what the commotion was all about. Sherlock blew through the living room, knocking over the armchair in his attempt at getting to his desk. He ruffled messily through a pile of papers.

"Where is it?" He shouted. "I need it!" He growled and rifled through the boxes stacked besides the couch.

"What are you looking for, dear?" Mrs Hudson called.

"The clue. The only clue found at the crime scene. I had it two hours ago. Where is it!" His eyes were wild.

I carefully raked my eyes over his person. He had only slept for an hour... how irresponsible. His hair was a messy mop of curls and he was wearing only a purple button down and slacks.

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