It didn't take long for John and I to get the DNA test arranged. We'd gotten it done two days after we decided we wanted to go through with it. Now all we had to do was wait for the results to be mailed.

So, as you could imagine, I continued to stay with John.

After all the time I'd been staying with him, never once did I ever pay for the hospitality I was given. I would definitely have to before I left for Maryland. I couldn't leave London, and John, without repaying him for putting up with me all these months.

Three weeks had passed since John and I decided to test Sherlock's father-daughter theory. John didn't seem affected by waiting for so long compared to me. Each day that passed, I was eager and worried. What if the results had gotten mailed to the wrong place? What if someone stole our mail because they were dumb bastards who had nothing better to do?

John and I found ways to make the days go by. He went back to work from time to time while I went out. I could tell something about his job made John happier when I'd see him come home. It was hard to put my finger on it.

It was another dreary day in London, but today felt different, like something was going to happen. Today has to be the day. It's got to be. Since I was in good spirits, I decided to head out and treat myself to a day of getting lost in London. At least I knew the address to the apartment so I could tell a taxi driver to send me home.

I dressed in warm colors today, in dark jeans and a black sweater. The sweater didn't reflect the mood I was in, but my hair sure did. I'd decided to curl it, giving my bland, straight hair a new look for a day. When I'd looked at myself in the mirror, I looked like a bubbly girl. I'd thought I'd lost that girl when coming to London.

Maybe I was getting her back.

I made sure to lock up, as John had left for work as I was getting a shower. For once, I didn't feel paranoid, worried that someone was hiding behind another house, ready to pounce and nab me.

I hadn't realized how long it had been since I'd really toured London. I wasn't hitting any major hotspots, just ambling down the sidewalks, examining the buildings. I didn't go into any stores since nothing stood out to me.

By the time lunch came around, my legs were begging me to rest. I complied with them, settling in at a nice place. I was pretty sure I picked the same café that I had gone to when Sherlock and John had been hunting down those kidnapped children.

I'd settled for outdoor seating, like last time. The weather was decent, not too chilly to make the outdoors intolerable. People casually walked by, going on about their daily lives. I pursed my lips, wondering how Sherlock could deduce people so quickly. I guess that had to come with being a psychopath—no, wait, a high-functioning sociopath. I knew he would never let me forget it if I said it out loud.

Once my salad came, I went to work on my iPod, connecting to the wifi the café had. I searched through Google News, seeing if anything major was happening back home. Nothing seemed to be. There weren't any articles on the suicide of Sherlock Holmes, and if there were, they were buried under other news stories.

Quickly deciding to get off of world news, I quickly went back to the search engine and tried to find a reliable source that gave me some British slang terms. I was still in England, so why not, right? Of course, it was difficult to find a site so reliable. Maybe I was better off finding the nearest bookstore and finding a dictionary.

I pulled my eyes away from the eye-numbing screen. From the corner of my eye, I swore I saw a black trench coat nonchalantly pass by me. My eyes followed the coat, only to realize I was being silly. The hair color didn't match. It wasn't dark, mussed, and wavy, like his had been.

Why do I have any hope that he'll return? You can't be brought back from the dead. It's against the laws of nature. I shook my head, wondering why I wanted Sherlock to be alive. I hadn't fallen in love with him, and I wasn't sure what kind of relationship we had had. Was it something like a friendship, or was it more of acquaintances?

I would never know. I could only guess.

* * *

My mood brightened when a particularly unfamiliar envelope came in the mail.

My heart thudded loudly in my ears. This had to be it, the results of the test. My hands trembled just holding it. I was so tempted to tear it open and see for myself. No. John is a part of this too. He needs to see it when I do. It's only fair.

As I waited impatiently for John to get back from work, I resisted temptation to peek at the answer. What if it really was true? What if Sherlock had been right? What if he wasn't? What if he had been lying to me all along? If this turned out to be wrong, then had Sherlock really known who my father was? Or did he not bother to look after all, breaking his promise to me?

I was thinking way too much about this.

Time passed agonizingly slow. I kept checking my phone for the time, wondering when John would finally come in the door. I'd jumped when I got a message from him. My spirits fell when he told me he was heading to the store to grab food. I wasn't sure how much longer my patience was going to hold out.

I put the envelope on the table in the dining room, hoping that it didn't go unnoticed by John when he came back from grocery shopping. That was the only place I knew it could be trusted to stay.

It felt so hard to believe that today was the day. Today would once and for all solve the big questions: Did John Watson have a daughter, and was the said daughter me?

I had one man to thank for this all happening, though I couldn't thank him in person as he was now buried in the ground. Okay, let's try not to ruin the possible happy day.

I wondered how differently things would have turned out had Sherlock not said that John was my father. If this is true and if he had never told me, the secret would have died with him.

Nothing could calm me down. I tried pacing, I tried music, and I tried deep breaths. Nothing worked. Hell, I even looked up yoga videos on Youtube and attempted to do them. Even that didn't work. If anything, those things made me even more anxious.

I wondered how John and I would take to it, regardless of the answer. I could foresee a very awkward atmosphere should the test prove us not to be related. If it was a match, that was harder to think up. I knew we wouldn't be celebrating with champagne and hugging each other while bouncing around the apartment like two crazy teenagers who had just got accepted to college.

Just as I was bored enough to where I braided my hair, I could hear John clumping up to the door. My heart sprinted, knowing that the time was near.

"Please tell me you bought enough so that we don't have to make another trip," I called from the couch.

"You mean so that I don't have to make another trip," he corrected me. I heard the door swing open, and I could hear him wrestling with bags in his arms. "And I would think so. I was gone longer than I expected." I didn't pay him any attention; I was too focused on my hair. I could hear him shuffling past me into the kitchen. "A little help would be nice."

"Hey, I'm not here to be your maid," I joked. "Give me a second." I finished off my braid and then went to go help John.

Let me tell you, putting groceries away should have been an easy task. Normally it was, but with all that was going on in my head, I couldn't do it right. My eyes kept shifting to the table, to the envelope that had a very important answer I was dying to know.

"You're distracted," John noticed.

"Am I?" I asked stupidly. With all my strength, I kept my eyes away from the envelope.

"Did something happen with one of your friends back in America?"

"No."

"Did something happen to you?"

"What are you expecting to happen to me?"

"Were you hallucinating again?"

My mouth dropped. "No! That hasn't happened in a while."

"I just want to make sure." He put his hands up in surrender. "I don't want you to hide things from me, Rachel."

"I'm not." I folded my arms across my chest. "Trust me, if that kept happening, I would have told you by now, and I would be on medication."

"What's that?" John's eyes fell to the table. His eyes snapped to mine, brown meeting green. He looked back at the envelope. "That's really it?"

"I figured you'd want to find out the same time as me." I shrugged. "It was hard for me to not cheat, but I managed." I felt rather proud at that accomplishment.

"Considerate."

I grabbed the envelope. "Shall we?"

With anxious air, we both filed in to the living room, where we made ourselves comfortable on the couch. My fingers felt clammy. I was afraid I was going to start shaking.

"You should do it," I told John, holding it out for him to take. "I don't think I can."

"Really? I would think you would want to do it, being that you didn't look at it all day."

"It was your idea, you do it," I pressed.

John nodded once, taking the envelope from me. I kept my hands together so that they wouldn't roam. He seemed as nervous as I did.

With agonizing slowness, he ripped open the envelope. My pulse thundered in my ears as he pulled out the paper. I kept my eyes on my hands as he silently read the results to himself. I closed my eyes, wondering.

It was a long, silent minute before John let out a weird noise. It wasn't one of fear; it sounded more like...disbelief. I opened my eyes, watching him curiously. He couldn't take his eyes off the paper.

"So...?" I probed, leaning forward. "What does it say?"

John shook his head, looking up from the paper at me. He started chuckling. "It's...it's true."

My eyes widened. It's true. "You mean...?"

"You're my daughter."

I put my hands to my mouth, letting out a strangled laugh. I hunched over, trying to not let myself explode. Sherlock was right. Tears came to my eyes. "I don't believe it."

"I can't." John slumped against the armrest, the paper sprawled on his lap. "He was right all along."

We stared at each other for a long time, drinking in what news we found.

My mind was abuzz with thoughts. We're related. He's my father. I'm his daughter. Wait...that must mean I was born the U.K., maybe even in London!

"I...I don't know what to say," I blubbered.

"I don't understand it." John rubbed his forehead.

"What do you mean? It's obvious as to how I'm yours."

"I know that. What I mean is...how can it be? I was never married." He let out a trembling breath. "How...?"

Still muttering things under his breath, John left me, shell-shocked, on the couch. He had to be happy at least, like I was. I was sure the shock was just overwhelming him and that deep down he was happy.

I laid back on the couch, stunned and mystified. It's really true; I'm John Watson's daughter. I tried to picture my name with the last name Watson attached to it.

It was definitely weird, but somehow, it felt right.

When the shock would wear off, I knew John and I had one pressing question left: Who was my mother? John was the only one who could figure it out. I had never gotten a name to my mother, as my adoptive parents couldn't remember her. They hadn't even known where I had come from, for crying out loud!

I sometimes thought my parents were becoming senile much quicker than they were supposed to.

John was going to have to help me on this, because he had known my mother at some point in time. Doing a mental calculation, they had to have met when they were a few years younger than me, like high school years. I really hoped John didn't forget his girlfriends from high school, otherwise we were both screwed.

**Did you really think Sherlock would've told her a lie, you guys?

Possibly.

But, I think if he'd lied he would have said a more convincing lie than John Watson's name.**