As you could imagine, things got a little awkward since test result day.

The days went on as normal, conversation was awkward. We didn't know how to really deal with this. I knew how to handle the news internally; I kept my relief buried deep inside. The mystery was finally put to rest.

I never expected my father to be from a different country, let alone be right in front of me this whole time while I was in London. I was glad someone figured it out, otherwise John and I would have probably never known.

I yearned to know about my mother from John, but I was finding it hard to bring it up. You would think it would be easy, right?

It was also weird to see him in a new light now. He was my father. Though it was true, it was hard to believe. Who would have thought it? The very man I'd been looking for had been living in 221B with a consulting detective.

It was another stay-in day for me and another out-day for John. It was weird for me to still call him his name. For a while, I'd been debating on whether or not to start calling him "Dad". I mean, he was my dad, but I wasn't sure how well it would sound. I was so used to calling him John for months.

Ever since that day, I was secretly thankful for Sherlock living up to his promise. I felt forever grateful. It hurt me to know that I could never repay him. Well, I guess that's not true. I could be watching over John—my dad—for him.

I really needed to get used to that fact.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like today should be an in-day for me. With a plan in my head, I lurched out of my comfy bed and headed straight for the bathroom to shower. I'd only visited the place once, but it would be nice to visit again despite how depressing it could get. Even though I knew there was no chance in hell that he would hear me, I needed to express my gratitude to him. A letter wouldn't cut it.

I had to go visit his grave.

* * *

"I won't be long," I told the taxi driver as I got out.

I remembered the last time I had come here. I'd been with John and Mrs. Hudson. My mind thought about the little old lady. I needed to make a note to visit her sometime, if I was willing to bring myself back to Baker Street.

I felt like I was replaying the day in my head. I could see our trio standing in front of the grave I was walking towards with snail slowness. I could see me kneeling down before the headstone and then taking off because I thought I saw a flash of black. That hadn't been real, that had been the start of me briefly losing my mind.

Sherlock was dead. I'd watched him fall off the roof of St. Bart's. There was no way he had survived the fall. End of story.

A sense of déjà vu rippled through my veins as I glared down at the black headstone. I was ashamed of myself for forgetting to bring something to place on the grave. I felt like I was disrespecting the dead. But I reminded myself that this was Sherlock Holmes' grave, so I doubted his ghost would care if I brought anything or not.

I smiled solemnly, wondering about the poor souls on the other side who were encountering him. I could see his ghost trying to find a case on the other side, deducting people. Even in death he wouldn't stop. I wondered what he'd do if he got bored on the other side. Haunt people?

At that thought, I decided to stop thinking about it all together.

Like last time, I dropped to my knees, watching my reflection in the marble headstone.

"You were right," I whispered. "I'd had my doubts, but never again will I doubt anything you say. I guess I can't if you're dead." I exhaled slowly. "I can't ever thank you enough for it. I wish I could thank you face to face, it would be a lot more meaningful." I sniffled. "How long did you know?"

I froze as I swore I saw a figure in the reflection of the headstone. Carefully, I got to my feet, my eyes never leaving the reflection. I closed my eyes slowly. It's not real. He's not behind me. He's in the ground below.

Opening my eyes, I turned around to see nothing. I sighed heavily, the hope that he would be there shattered. I didn't understand why I wanted him to be alive so badly.

"This will probably the last time I'll be talking to you," I mumbled. "I don't think I'll come back. But don't think it means that I won't forget you. A man like you can't be forgotten."

* * *

"You're sure you want to do it?" Amanda asked over the phone. "I mean, you just found your dad. Don't you think it's kind of harsh to get a ticket and leave him?"

"You think I should stay longer?"

"I'm not saying that. Well, I guess I am," she admitted. "You've both just found each other. You should stay a little longer to get to know each other."

"I might as well stay down here permanently."

"Yeah...no, I'm not letting that happen. I'm not losing you to London. I want you back for your birthday, Rachel."

Right, it was coming up soon. I'd soon be 21, another year closer to 30.

"I want to celebrate with you, and so do the others. And Alex really wants to meet you."

"Have you been talking me up to him while I've been away?" I laughed. I continued to search for cheap tickets on my iPod.

"I've got an idea! What if you asked him to come with you?" My iPod slipped through my fingers, falling into my lap. I stared at the screen. "You hate my idea, don't you?"

"No!" I panicked. "It just...threw me off, that's all."

"Rach, you don't have to lie to me."

"Mandy, it's not a bad idea," I assured her. "In fact...it's brilliant."

"You're not going to start talking like a Brit because you were born to two Brit parents, are you?"

It was strange to associate myself with British parents. I was the odd one out of my broken family. I gnawed on my lower lip. "I could ask him to go, but I doubt he would."

"Why?"

"He works, Mandy."

"It'd be just for your birthday. We could all celebrate together." She gasped. "He'd get to meet your adoptive parents!"

I paled, seeing that being an easily awkward encounter. My long-lost-now-found-father meeting my adoptive parents who'd raised me since they got me. Oh yeah, that would be a flawless meeting. I could see my adoptive parents possibly chewing out my real dad for not being there for me. "That's a scary thought," I mumbled.

"Will you at least ask him?"

"Sure." I shrugged. "What can it hurt?"

"Exactly."

I whipped my head around to see John come back from work. He threw me a small smile, I waved to him. As he walked past, I pressed the phone closer to my mouth. "I also see another issue. He might not want to leave, period."

"Rachel, it could do him some good. Actually, it could do you both some good." Amanda paused briefly. "You aren't still worried that he'll do something, are you?"

"I'm not anymore. He doesn't seem to be a threat to himself."

"I bet that's what you thought the last time."

I winced. "I'm positive this time. He seems a lot better compared to before."

"Are you better?"

"Yeah." I nodded.

"Just give it a shot. If he doesn't agree to it right away, convince him. You've only got a few days before that plane leaves."

My heart dropped. Right. I wanted to be back in Maryland in a few days' time.

"You better get cracking." Before I could get out a word, Amanda ended the call. I glared at the blank screen.

I had a feeling John wasn't going to agree instantly to this idea. How to bring it up to him? My God, this was definitely going to be harder than it sounded.

I shuffled into the kitchen, feeling the question in my throat. I stared at my dad, wishing I could blurt out the question without hesitation.

"How was work?" Okay, not the question I wanted to ask, but it was a start.

"Oh, the usual," he replied casually over his shoulder. I stood awkwardly in the threshold. Just do it. How hard can it be? "Is something wrong, Rachel?" He turned around to examine me. I looked at anything but him. "You're not asking me to give you the 'talk', are you?"

"What?" I gaped at him. "No! I had that talk freshman year in high school." I shook my head vigorously. "There's something I want to ask you."

"You don't have to be nervous about it. I'll listen." Before I could get a word out, he cut me off. "This is about your mother, isn't it?"

Shake your head no. Instead, I nodded. Stupid. "Yeah, it is."

"How about we make a deal? We'll make dinner first, and then we'll talk about your mother."

One small weight was off my chest. I nodded, grinning slightly.

John and I embarked on a father-daughter dinner-making session. The times we made dinner we worked pretty well as a team, though neither of us were chefs. This time we ended up making breakfast for dinner, one of the things I loved because it was a rarity. I nearly drooled all over the pancakes and bacon that we fried up.

Once we sat down at the table, we dug in a little bit before John decided to break the silence.

"How old are you, Rachel?"

I nearly choked on my piece of pancake. "Twenty. I'm going to be twenty-one in less than a month."

"And your birthday?"

"July nineteenth." I soaked another piece of pancake into syrup, popping the dinner delicacy into my mouth.

John shook his head in disbelief. "I've got an adult daughter, and I've only just met her." He momentarily glared at his empty fork. His eyes met mine. "You do look a bit like your mother. You've got her eyes. She always had the most beautiful coloring."

"Who was she?"

"She was the only woman I'd had a long relationship with." He chuckled, it sounded forced. He cleared his throat. "Her name was Courtney. She was a soft-spoken girl; she was the studious girl who strived to get good marks in every class." He snorted a laugh to himself. "She'd tutored me, that's how we met." I smiled. "We were shy, but we warmed up to each other in the end."

"So you were high school sweethearts?" I asked quietly.

"I guess you could say that." John shrugged.

"That's so cute." It sounded like a somewhat cliché meeting you saw in a show or read in a book. "Wait, who asked who out?"

"I asked her, of course." He looked a bit offended by my question.

"I just wanted to know, that's all. Can you blame me?"

John's eyes turned sad. "I also remember the last time I saw your mother."

My heart accelerated in my chest. Here came the hard part.

"I'd just graduated; she was in her final year of school. Something had been off about her for a few days, I couldn't figure it out. She'd told me she was fine. I'd met her after classes were done; I was going to give her a ride home." He closed his eyes briefly, as though he was recalling a tough memory. "But she...exploded on me, for no reason. She was going off, and nothing I could say or do could calm her down. She'd told me she couldn't deal with everything, and she ended it. Broke my heart that day."

I felt a piece of my heart shatter and die hearing this doomed romance. It sounded like something you'd see in a TV drama or, again, read in a book.

"Of course, thinking about it now, I think I know what was wrong with her." His voice was rueful. "I'd assumed it was the pressure of her classes piling on her, but really...she was pregnant with you. Hormones got the better of her." He put a hand over his mouth, shaking his head again. "For twenty years I never knew I had a daughter."

For some reason, it was hard to get the idea through to my head that John was a teenage parent, an unknown teenage parent, if you wanted to be technical. Being around him for so many months, I couldn't see his younger self getting someone pregnant.

I now wondered what spurred that romantic night. Hopefully not alcohol.

"She probably never told you about me because she was afraid of what you'd say," I blurted. "She probably thought you wouldn't have been there for her."

"I would have definitely been by her side through it all, Rachel, if she had told me." He sighed heavily, suddenly looking aged. "We could have been a family..."

"We technically still are," I said carefully. "We'll never be a proper family, but we're still one."

"How long has she...been gone?"

I did the mental math. "Seventeen years. She died when I was three."

John let out a choked sob. "Courtney..."

I forgot about dinner entirely, reaching across to grab his hand. He looked up at me. I couldn't even offer him a smile, his pain was seeping into me. John leaned back in his chair, my hand slipped through his. I could see tears brimming in his eyes. Without a word, I got out of my seat and went to him, kneeling before him. I looked up at him with tender eyes—my mother's eyes thanks to his confirmation.

Oh, and how could I forget the injury you both share? Sherlock's words rang in my head. I didn't have to ask John to know that he and I shared a shot left shoulder. Of course, his wound was braver than mine. I'd gotten mine out of sheer stupidity; he'd gotten his out of serving his country. How in the hell could Sherlock have based my bloodline off of a shoulder wound? That was probably coincidental.

My mind thought back to flying back to America in a few days' time. Did I really want to push that on him now while he was in such a vulnerable state?

John's eyes looked over my face. He shook his head. "I can see her in you."

I threw him a timid smile. "I'm probably an even mixture of you both." I looked up at the ceiling, blowing out a noisy breath. "I know this may not be the best time, but, I want to ask you something else. It has nothing to do with my mom."

"I'm listening."

"I'm planning on leaving for home soon."

John's mouth parted slightly in befuddlement. "When you mean 'soon,' you mean...?"

"A few days." I flushed. "I-I know it's sudden, but, I need to go back sometime."

I could see John lost his spirit. "So you're leaving...just like that?"

"You haven't heard my question yet. I—I want you to come with me." Well, it came out as more of a proposal, but the question was still in there.

John blinked at me; I could see him taking in my proposition. I watched him carefully, thinking this could either go really well or really bad in the next minute. The anticipation made my heart beat so loud I swore he could hear it.

After a long minute, he cleared his throat. "A-are you sure?"

I nodded. "It would be for a little while, at least for my birthday. I can pay for you staying if you want to find a motel or a hotel, or whatever. I still owe you for taking me in at Baker Street when I came here."

"I'd have to think about it, Rachel. I can't just pack everything and go. I have a life here."

"Then make arrangements," I urged gently. "Plan your vacation time. You probably have days left, right? I'm not asking you to stay in America permanently. It's only for a short time. Besides, don't you want a change of scenery? And...and you'd get to meet my parents."

John looked at me pitifully. "I'd have to think about it," he repeated.

"You can't wait until the last minute, I need to get the tickets really soon. Promise you'll give me an answer?"

"I promise."

**Who'd have thought it, John Watson, the unaware teenage parent?**