A/N: hey guys!

Sorry, i meant to update earlier, but i'm currently reading a fanfiction and i've been so engrossed in it that i've basically done nothing else on wattpad (whoops)...So sorry about that, but hope you enjoy this chapter!

-jawn

Agitated. That was the first thing that flashed through John's mind when Carrie stepped into the living room behind Sherlock. Troubled and pale. Exhausted. Questioning. Her complexion seemed to have become even lighter than when John had last seen her, reminding him of bathroom tiles in an unhealthy context. Her brown eyes seemed sallow, lacking lustre, and dark shadows were beneath them, all the more prominent because of her corpse-like skin. Her dark hair was dishevelled by the wind outside and again she clutched the same handbag as on her first visit. Visibly uncomfortable, she stroked her white blouse and ran her tongue over her lips.

"You wanted to see me?"

She sounded unsettled, more than usual when John spoke to her on the phone. Almost as if she was afraid something might happen that would pull the rug out from under her. This was not necessarily alleviated by the reaction with which Sherlock had met her - or rather had not met her. Without another word, he had pushed past her and sat back down in his chair, from where he was now looking at her with exactly the same grim expression he had been putting on since Carrie's arrival.

John cleared his throat.

"Yes," he took over the answer.

He stroked his jeans and pulled himself up from the floor. Before he could continue speaking, however, he was interrupted by someone below him.

"Daddy!" said Rosie, who didn't seem to like his getting up at all, and slammed the token in her hand down on the floor. Her eyes gleamed dangerously under the drawn-together eyebrows from which she looked at him reproachfully.

Oh man.

Quickly John bent down to lift her into his arms. A crying fit from Rosie while Carrie, of all people, was there was the last thing they needed. And by the way, her reaction was admittedly not entirely unfounded - he really had kept her waiting enough today.

"Do you want to do something really exciting and be a real hero?" he asked her quietly now, trying to make his voice sound as enthusiastic as possible. "Because you get to be that now and solve a real case with your daddies!"

He put as much enthusiasm as he could into his smile and, thankfully, that seemed to placate her somewhat. The defiantly advanced lower lip gave way to a slight nod of the head before something seemed to occur to her and she paused. Her gaze wandered to Carrie, who, like Sherlock, had been silently following the scene. Before John could blink once properly, her head shot back again and she pressed her face into the hollow of his neck. The heat of her cheeks could be felt even through his jumper. Apparently it had occurred to her that they weren't alone in the room. He shook his head. He would never understand such a thing. A whirlwind here, but the shyest person in the world in front of strangers.

"Yes," he repeated his answer, turning his gaze back to Carrie. "Yes, we did. Please, sit down."

He pointed to the chair between the armchairs. "Would you like some tea?"

She shook her head as she followed his nod and John settled into his own armchair with Rosie. Vigilantly, Sherlock followed her every move. Not a bit of the grimness disappeared from his gaze as he turned to Carrie and spoke up.

"John wanted me to explain what happened, but plainly it steals time we don't have, and you'd hardly be able to follow my explanations anyway with your moronic brain."

He spoke so quickly that it almost sounded as if the individual words were tripping over each other.

"If you do want to hear them, ask John, because he's still the closest to your mental level. Can we get started? Great. Where exactly is Juliet from?"

John suppressed a groan and rubbed his forehead. Awesome start. He didn't even want to see Carrie's face - he already knew it far too well from all the other clients Sherlock had rattled off one of his typical speeches to at a murder speed.

"Don't take it seriously," he muttered. "He doesn't always need to be understood."

"What?"

John didn't need to look at Sherlock to see his indignant expression.

"Why shouldn't she take it seriously? It's the truth. With her mental faculties, she can't understand-"

"Yes, thank you, we got it."

John gave him a harsh look.

Carrie probably figured that even the toddler in his arms could act more adult than the two of them put together. And with Sherlock, that was occasionally the case.

"So," he said, turning to Carrie again, trying to strike as unbiased a tone as possible. "We have a few questions for you that might help us. Ok?"

"We already said that on the phone."

"I know," John hissed, his patience wearing thin. What was this? A bitch contest?

"This is not something that only someone with your extraordinary mental faculties could know. Can we leave these toddler games aside now and get on with the important things?"

Sherlock was already starting to straighten up, but seemed to change his mind about answering when he saw John's stabbing stare, and after a few seconds of eye-dueling, sat back surrendered.

Jesus.

John only realised now that he had unconsciously tensed as he relaxed his muscles too, and Rosie released her gaze from his jumper to look at him. She said nothing, probably not daring to, but John could see the fear in her gaze even so.

He lifted her a little higher towards him and stroked her back.

"All good. We'll play again in a bit, okay? Promise."

Rosie didn't nod, but lowered her gaze again, though she didn't bury her face in John's chest again. Instead, she pressed her cheek firmly against his body and peered in Carrie's direction.

"So," Sherlock began again, this time in a calmer tone, though he didn't quite manage to keep the trace of petulance out of his voice. "Why you're here, John has just kindly explained. We need to find out more about Juliet. Do you know where exactly she lived in Chicago? Or anything about the place?"

Carrie blinked, but then shook her head.

"No," she replied, clearing her throat. A little apprehensively, she slid back and forth on the chair and John couldn't blame her.

"I don't know. As I said, she never wanted to talk to me or anyone else about anything in her past, trivial as it might be."

Sherlock's expression darkened.

"And her parents?" he asked further. "Do you really not know anything about them? What their names are or what they did for a living? At least whether they're dead or alive? Whether they're even her real parents?"

Again Carrie shook her head.

"What about the school? Do you know which one it was? Where she went? A-levels? Graduation subjects? Any teachers she's had contact with to date?"

John was about to step in to tell him to maybe keep the barrage of questions down, but Carrie beat him to it.

"I can only say it again that whatever facts you are going to ask me about her past will have to go unanswered because I simply have no idea. I have no damn idea!"

At the last sentence, her voice took on a hint of...yes, of desperation. No, wrong. Not just her voice, she seemed desperate. Carrie lowered her eyes to her bag and John glanced at Sherlock. They really shouldn't be so rough about it. After all, this was more than just a case for her - her best friend was possibly in mortal danger. But Sherlock paid no attention to him, continuing to keep his eyes on Carrie.

"Absolutely nothing?" he probed further. "Are you sure?"

Carrie seemed to have either no mood or no power left to answer, so she just nodded mutely. Sherlock made an unsatisfied sound. Just then John was able to suppress a sigh. No facts, no solution. It was as simple as that. And at least as crappy. How the hell were they supposed to get anywhere when the person who had been closest to Juliet knew next to nothing that could help them? Who was supposed to know anything then? Damn it, time was slipping through their fingers. And Juliet with it.

A slight tug on his shirt collar snapped him out of his thoughts and his head jerked down. Rosie had clawed her hand into his shirt and instead of a questioning expression of a few minutes ago, there was now a rather displeased look in her eyes.

"I want to play," she said, "I don't want to be a hero, I want to play, Daddy. Now."

Apparently she hadn't been following the conversation, because all that seemed to matter to her right now were those bloody tokens. Tears glistened in her eyes again and the reproachful expression from before had returned. John ran his hand over his forehead. What was he supposed to do now? Mrs Hudson was there, as far as he knew, but just getting up and leaving would be more than rude. Besides, they were in the middle of an important questioning, John didn't have time to play. However, Rosie didn't look like she was going to be content with stalling any longer either.

He sighed.

"Okay, then of course you can play. Being a hero is really uncool too."

He straightened up and brushed one of her blonde curls out of her face.

"How about you go to Aunt Hudson's and I'll join you in a minute? With lots of candy and we build a really great tower?"

The word "candy" had its intended effect and Rosie's eyes cleared again, while her expression brightened and she nodded eagerly. Hopefully Mrs Hudson had some sweets.

He stood up and turned to Carrie.

"I'm sorry, I'll be right back. It's just..." he nodded towards his daughter in his arms and smiled apologetically.

Carrie raised her hands and shook her head.

"Oh no, no problem. I know this from my siblings."

Thanking her, John pushed past her but then turned around again. Sherlock had said nothing further and seemed to have lapsed back into his statuesque posture. A dark, curly strand hung in his forehead and seemed to be the only thing he was still half aware of, as he absently tried to blink it away. Otherwise, his gaze was fixed in the distance. Was he thinking of new questions? Hopefully. Because John himself had absolutely no idea what else to ask. Juliet's favourite colour would hardly help them in further investigations.

Sighing, he turned his back on the quiet living room and headed for the door. Then it was probably also superfluous to ask if they could wait with the interrogation until he was back. Because an interrogation could only take place if one also had questions.