Sophia Holmes and the Speckled Blonde (Sherlock's Daughter Fanfic) *Completed*

Epilogue

We have some spare time later in the day (which is in fact eight o'clock in the morning) and while dad and I prepare some toast for breakfast, John is updating his blog, again.

"He's writing about us again," I point out, stuffing a piece into my mouth as I sit on the counter, watching the cardigan-baring doctor as his fingers bounce up and down on the keys.

"I take it you aren't bothering with school today?" Dad asks me, swiping another slither of toast from my plate.

"Nah," I groan. "It wouldn't be worth the effort." Nodding, he picks up another slice of toast before walking back through the living room door and past John. He looks down at the computer screen as he passes, and stops as he looks at the title for the entry.

"Oh, for God’s sakes!" Dad says, speaking with his mouth full.

"What?" John questions, raising his hands off the keys for a moment and reading back through his text.

"'The Speckled Blonde'?!" I read, coming up behind him. I see John purse his lips before dad walks away again, heading for the phone.

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson calls, trotting up the stairs, two young girls following timidly behind her. "I found these two dearies outside. They want a word with you, I think." She moves to the side to allow the girls to pass, while I pull one of the dining chairs our for them to sit on. Dad seems to have forgotton his original business of phoning my school up, and is now instead pacing in front of the fireplace as he waits for them to begin.

"Our granddad died the other day," the eldest sister says sadly, swinging her feet idly as she spoke.

"But they wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead," the younger one pipes up. "Is that ‘cause he’d gone to heaven?"

"People don’t really go to heaven when they die," dad informs them, and I get a flashback of when I was younger and I'd asked the same question about mum. "They’re taken to a special room and burned."

It had ruined my childhood when he'd told me that. The thought of my beautiful mother being burnt ... I still can't bare the thought sometimes. I just want to see her again.