Y/n Holmes

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Outside in the sunshine, Y/n sits in a tree working on a sketch in her notebook. Unnoticed, Sherlock walks up to the tree that she's sitting on.

"I also enjoy a sketch." Sherlock sits on the grass, leaning on the tree holding a pipe. "Helps me think, process my thoughts."

"Helps me do the same." Y/n tears the sketch out of her notebook. It slips out of her hands as she reaches for it, but drifts down towards Sherlock.

Sherlock sees the paper and catches it, chuckling as he looks at it. Y/n's drawing is a caricature of Mycroft.

"A caricature. Perhaps best if Mycroft doesn't see it. Do you intend to stay up there?"

"I was hoping for some privacy." Y/n says to Sherlock looking down at him then her notebook.

"You know, last I remember you, you we're quite a timid little thing. You had a pine cone wrapped in wool, dragged it with you wherever you went, calling it Dash. Someone told you that Queen Victoria had a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel called Dash, and you decided you wanted the same. We could never persuade you to put any trousers on." Sherlock tells Y/n smiling.

Y/n gasps, she gets down from her spot to another on the tree.

"Your bottom was always bare. I think that's all the memories I have."

"Thank you. If you could now forget them all. A pine cone called Dash? That sounds ridiculous." Y/n says smiling and climbing down the tree.

"Father used to chase you all about the place, shouting, "Get that damn dog out of my house!" Sherlock tells her as they both start to smile.

"Why did you never visit?" Y/n asks Sherlock as she sits on a tree branch, fiddling with her fingers.

Sherlock turns to Y/n then back at the grass sighing. "I lead a busy life."

"So why did you never write?" Y/n asks Sherlock hopping off the branch.

"Would you have cared for my letters?" Sherlock also asks, looking at her.

Y/n looks at Sherlock then sits down beside him, keeping eye contact.

"I have kept every clipping of every case of yours I could ever find."

"That's flattering."

"So, of course I would care for your letters Sherlock, and yet it took our mother's disappearance to bring you home. She meant to go. She's not coming back." Y/n says to Sherlock downhearted.

"No. But the truth is, Mother always had a reason for everything. Her own way of doing things. And those kinds of mysteries are always the most satisfying to unpick." Sherlock tells her smirking.

"I don't want a mystery, Sherlock. I want my mother back here and my life as it was."

"You're being emotional. It's understandable, but unnecessary." Sherlock tells Y/n as she looks down at her lap. "Look for what's there, not what you want to be there. You'll see the truth soon enough."

Later that night...Y/n lays in her bed thinking. Mrs. Lane walks into Y/n's room.

"Mrs. Lane. You don't normally intrude on me at night."

"Well, I thought we might get packing in the morning." Mrs. Lane brings in a big trunk. "This used to be Master Sherlock's. He never had much of a taste for school, either. Used to run away every term. Your father would keep sending him back."

"And Mycroft?" Y/n asks Mrs. Lane as she sits on Y/n's bed.

"Oh, he loved every second."

"Why didn't she take me with her?"