2.

"Vi? Vi? Are you sleeping?" The cockney accent of the older girl woke fifteen year old Vivienne up, already curled up and as comfortable as she could be on the lumpy bed.

"What do you want?" Vivienne hissed, careful not to wake the other ten girls in the room, St. Martha's home for girls as still as it could be.

"Heard you were going to a new home." Trish whispered from the bed next to her. "Heard you were going to the Henderson's home."

"Yea, so? It won't last long." Vivienne noted. No one wanted to keep teenage girls for long. Mostly Vivienne lately would find herself at a foster home for only a few weeks before something 'didn't work out', finding herself back at the home.

"Yea, you'll stay for long. But you'll be buggered every night" Trish hissed at her. "Last month, Hattie went to the Henderson house. Caddie said she could hear the husband buggering Hattie from the next house over."

"That's bullshit." Vivienne hissed, a surge of fear rising in her.

"Nu-uh, it's true. Caddie never lies about anything." Vivienne rolled over.

"Shut up." She hissed, pulling the blanket over her.

"No, it's true, Vivi Lomeh. You better get the hell out of here before you get buggered and you die." Coddie said with a smug smile. Vivienne glanced over at the girl.

"You're so full of shit." She hissed at her. Though as she laid her head back down on the pillow, she was mentally planning out her escape plan, something inside of her breaking. Saying that she wasn't in fact going to lie there and take being moved from place to place. She had to make a change.

"And you want to reopen the case?" Lestrade asked, his head in his hands as he considered Sherlock's offer. "Bloody 'ell this isn't even my division Sherlock." Lestrade said more to himself and not to the man in front of him.

"It doesn't matter. You're the only one who will even hear me out on this." Sherlock stiffly said, putting down the file. Lestrade opened it, seeing a picture of a two year old little girl, her pale blue eyes and curls all too similar to Sherlock. "She was given up for adoption by my father. But somehow after that she just fell off the radar. No record of adoption, no record of hospitalization, no death record, nothing." He said, his eyes glancing at Lestrade watching the file. He looked up, glancing at Sherlock.

"It's been 13 years Sherlock. Times have changed. You won't find a little girl. You'll find a young teenager, a girl who possibly doesn't want anything to do with you. She could have been adopted already. Maybe her name was changed." Sherlock nodded stiffly.

"I just need to know what happened to her." Sherlock only said.

"No, you're just lonely. Honestly Sherlock, just admit you want your sister and I'll take the case. Now, if you'll excuse me I've got business to take care of. Like why everyone decided to commit suicide." Sherlock got up, saying nothing as he put his coat and scarf back on.

"Fine then, I have an appointment anyway." He said, clearly hurt by Lestrade's lack of empathy.

"What appointment?"

"I'm meeting a possible Flatmate." Sherlock shouted, slamming Lestrade's office door. Lestrade sat back in his chair, huffing in frustration.

Two months after the wedding the dark rings under Greg's eyes were clear as he walked into the house, hanging up his coat, the smell of pot roast simmering in the air, Greg instantly perking up at the scent. Walking into the foyer, he saw his wife curled up on the couch, stopping to admire her.

Vivienne had been grading papers before she fell asleep, a student's paper resting on her chest, moving up and down with her breaths. Her sweater was rumpled from moving to get comfortable on the couch, her jeans unzipped to give her small belly room, her curls around her face. Greg could only grin like a school boy at seeing his beautiful wife like this, at one in the morning, having tried to stay up waiting for him. He went to the couch, moving her legs so he could lay himself down between them, gently moving the paper to the ground to rest his head in his favorite spot between his wife's breasts, which to his enjoyment were getting bigger.

She woke up the minute she felt the weight of his body over her own, grinning at him as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Mmm, welcome home darling." She murmured, kissing the top of his head. Greg reached over to kiss her gently, one of his hands gently rubbing at her stomach. Vivienne broke away, her forehead touching his. "The pot roast might be done by now." She whispered, nuzzling his neck. She reveled in the feeling of her husband's five o'clock shadow, something Greg fought to keep off though she loved it all the same, trying to convince him many times to let his facial hair grow.

Greg gave a crooked smile, getting up to get the pot roast out. Vivienne watched her husband walk away, putting papers down next to her on the floor. The papers could wait. Being married to a DI meant she didn't get to spend much time alone with her husband, taking every moment she could to spend small moments like this. He came back a few minutes later with a two plates loaded with meat and potatoes, handing Vivienne the larger plate as he sat on the other end of the couch, their legs tangled together. Vivienne wrinkled her nose at the larger plate but ate it all the same.

"How was work?" She asked, Greg's feet sneaking under her arse to warm his feet.

"Anderson is being a diva as always, Sherlock and him fighting as usual. Really, just an average day. Yours?" He asked, Vivienne's feet under his arse as well.

"It was good. I promised the girls I'd make brownies if they all got 4.0's on their exam. Then one of them asked if there was going to be pot in them. You know, the usual." She mused, biting into a piece of the meat. "Oh, and Beth found out her baby's going to be a boy. I started on the booties already." She said, nodding on her knitting nearby. Greg nodded, just enjoying the time with his wife, just content to be lying down with the future mother of his child. "Oh and we have a doctor's appointment on Friday. I made it for the lunch break so we don't have to take time off." She said, taking a drink of water. "Maybe we could go to the sushi place after." She suggested, flashing a small smile.

"I'd like that." Greg said, smiling back at her, both of them getting back to their food, chatting about their jobs and what happened, about insignificant things as they finished their meal, Greg getting up to clean the dishes. Through the kitchen door, Vivienne watched her husband clean the dishes, content to see him around, putting her hand over the small bump on her stomach. In this moment, she couldn't be more content, having her husband with her and safe, their child coming in just six months, moved into the new house Mycroft gave them as a wedding present, both of them more than happy together.

He came back after getting the kitchen together, Vivienne not able to stop grinning at the fact he took off his shirt, showing the sturdy chest that she loved so much. She layed there on the couch, just watching him walk over, just admiring her husband. Greg had that smile on his face like he was planning something. Letting him pick her up, Vivienne held on around Greg's neck, letting him carry her upstairs to their bedroom, the master bedroom that was their favorite part of the house. He threw her on the bed, quickly jumping on top of her, both of them struggling to get their clothes off.

"Out past curfew, eh? You know the doctor told you to get a good night's sleep." Greg was growling as Vivienne got on top of him, pulling off his pants with her teeth. She took his pants off, now Greg was naked under her.

"Couldn't sleep. Maybe I need something that makes me tired." She said, letting out a moan when Greg's lips closed around her nipple, the older man flipping her over so he was the one laying over her, his thumbs hooked into her panties.

"You want to be tired? Fine, I'll make you tired." He hissed, pulling off her panties in one fell swoop. He entered her quickly both of them moving together in a learned pattern, Greg kissing her shoulder as he moved his hips, Vivienne's legs coming to wrap around his waist. Both of them were gasping in pleasure, Vivienne tightening her muscles around Greg to make him give a shout of pleasure, reaching down to take a nipple in his mouth as he moved harder inside of her.

Meanwhile, Hamish was waking up five miles away on Baker Street, the figure of a strange man sitting at his desk.

"Hello Hamish" The man's voice had a slight Irish accent, the voice teeming with malice. The boy took a moment to gauge if he was dreaming, rolling over on his side to watch the older man. This wasn't right, Hamish knew. He could scream right now and his fathers would be right there to get him. But he was curious about this man and who he was.

"Who are you?" Hamish whispered, his pale blue eyes scanning for possible escapes. The man sitting at his desk chuckled darkly.

"Oh sweet boy, they didn't even tell you, did they?" Hamish noticed the man had black hair, coarse and looking unwashed, his suit rumpled but still good quality. "I'm your father Hamish. Your mummy didn't talk about me did she?" He asked. Hamish shook his head.

"No, I don't have a mum. I think you have the wrong house." Hamish noted, pretty much ready to call for his fathers.

"Oh really? But you see your mum all the time. I'm surprised she would lie to you." The man hissed, looking through Hamish's books on the table. "You don't even know where you came from, do you?" He asked. Hamish shook his head.

"Da and Father are my parents. I don't need anyone else." Hamish said, sitting up to look at the man. The man leaned over to look at Hamish, a book in his hands.

"Hamish, I think you need to have a talk with your auntie about your mummy and where she is now. Don't you think so?" The man asked, standing up. The man walked over to the window, stepping out on to the fire escape. "I'm glad we had this talk Hamish. But Daddy's had enough now." Hamish sat up, watching the man leave. The boy went to the window, seeing that the man was gone in a flash, Hamish looking around. Was it a dream? He asked himself, laying back down.

The months on the street hadn't been kind to Vivienne, her cheeks gaunt as she lay down on the park bench, a trench coat wrapped around her as she shivered, coughing again. And now she couldn't move from this bench, something that Trish had warned her about. 'Eat fruits and Vegetables.' Trish had cautioned as Vivienne was layering her clothes on to escape. 'The last thing you want is to get sick on the streets, especially during the winter.'

And now Vivienne was caught, sick on the streets and unable to move from the spot.

"And how's the new flat mate John?" Oh no, and two people decided to plop down on the bench next to hers, Vivienne hearing the click of a cane.

"It's never a dull moment Mike. Thank you for telling me about him." John said, sipping a cup of tea. Vivienne shifted her head more under the coat, willing herself to not hear their conversation.

"It's good then. I was hoping the two of you would find each other."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that the two of you needed someone, being each other." Vivienne could almost hear the smaller man tensing up.

"Mike, I'm not-"

"Listen John, I'm not saying that you are. I didn't mean anything by it." The Larger man was making the bench creak, driving the teenager mad, making her speak up.

"Do you two mind?" She managed to croak out. Mike and John immediately looked to the voice, none of them noticing the girl, John the first one to get up.

"Are you okay?" He asked, stepping towards the bench, Vivienne covering her head more.

"I'll be fine. Even better when the two of you shut your gob and let me sleep." She snapped. John and Mike cautiously stepped away, murmuring to each other.

"John, let's go-"

"Jesus Christ Mike, she's just a kid."

"No, she could be a junkie."

She knew what she looked like. But she had never touched drugs in her time on the streets. They were too expensive anyway. Most girls on the streets prostituted for them but Vivienne didn't want to lower herself there. Not yet anyway. They talked quietly a little more, someone setting something down next to the bench before she heard them step away. Rolling on her side, she saw a paper cup of tea, still steaming. The tea label was green, the same color that the small man had in his hand. She felt a surge of warmth, her hand shaking as she picked up the tea.

"Thank you." She whispered to no one in particular, picking up the cup to take a sip. The cup wavered, finally her fingers slipping, spilling the cup all over the pavement, the tea fanning out in hot liquid all over, Vivienne moaning in frustration.

"Are you sure? Sure that she just 'escaped'?" Sherlock hissed at the caseworker, the woman with bags under her eyes, who was cheating on her husband with a barista.

"Yes Mr. Holmes. She ran off months ago when she was assigned to a new house." The case worker calmly explained.

"Well, why didn't you contact the police to go find her?" Sherlock shouted, shaking in anger in his seat. The caseworker leaned over, widening the gap between the buttons of her shirt.

"Mr. Holmes, if we searched for every single runaway that falls through our system until they are found, we would exhaust the entire London police force. I understand your anger but we can do nothing for her. At this point, you have to look for her. I'd point for to the direction of a few of her old friends but we had the police question them and even they don't know where Vivienne could possibly be. I'm told that she just got up and asked to go to the store to buy some gum. Then she left and never came back." The woman explained, looking all the more tired just by talking to Sherlock. Sherlock looked around, seeing the amount of files that the woman had but in this moment he didn't care.

"Why was she allowed to leave the home?" He demanded, the caseworker taking out Vivienne's file. Sherlock caught a glimpse of her recent school photo, seeing that this Vivienne Lomeh was most definitely his sister.

"There was no reason not to let her. She gets top marks in school, did her chores in a timely manner, never fought with any of the girls. If anything she was sarcastic at times but she didn't bother anyone." The caseworker read off her file. "In short, when a fifteen year old girl asks if she can buy some gum, the answer is yes. I assure you, if she was ever a flight risk, someone would have said no to her." She repeated.

Sherlock glared at the woman, reaching his hand out to take the file. "Well then if you won't be any help I'll take this." He said, sliding the file into his coat. He and the caseworker got up at the same time.

"Sir? That's government property!" She yelled at him.

"So what? You have enough to bloody worry about!" Sherlock yelled back, leaving the building.