"I take it you like... Food?" Sherlock asked in an attempt to conversate with his teenage daughter, who looked strangely ahead of herself as they walked.

"I... Suppose so?" she said, but as if it was a question; "I don't know, I'm quite keen on surviving," she decided.

"Listen, we don't have to do this," she msntioned with a sigh; "I'll figure something out and I'll just meet you back at the flat later. Don't worry, I won't tell John." She'd stopped walking and faced her father.

"You don't mind?" Sherlock asked surprised. Macy scratched her forehead uncomfortably, before deciding to be honest.

"Of course I mind, Sherlock. You're my father." She sighed. While she wasn't good at reading emotions, it was clear that being called 'father' by her made Sherlock uncomfortable.

"But, I get it. You never wanted me before, so why would you now? I'm not gonna force you to spend time with me, I'm not gonna demand being a part of your life, because... I know you don't want me to be," she admitted; "John said I could stay for a bit at your flat, and I accepted, because quite frankly, where else am I going to go?"

"It's just dinner," she added with a slight smile.

Sherlock looked at her.

"I know a place nearby. The owner gives me free food. Come on," he demanded and started walking. Macy looked surprised after him, but quickly sped up so she walked beside him.

"He gives you free food?" she asked curiously.

"Yes." He noticed his daughters glare.

"I helped him out once," he added, and received an accepting nod.

They quickly arrived, since, as it turned around, it really was just around the corner. The owner seemed pleased to see Macy's father, and even more so that he had brought his daughter with him - although Sherlock hadn't been planning on telling that.

"Tell me about growing up with Uncle Mycroft?" Macy asked as they were waiting for their food.

"Why?" She shrugged.

"Just curious. Has he always been-"

"Fat? Yes," Sherlock quickly replied, causing Macy to laugh loudly. She smiled and looked down before facing her fathers confused look again, this time with sparkling eyes.

"I meant to ask if he'd always been in control of his emotions as he is now," she explained with a smile.

"Oh."

"You're like that, too," Macy mentioned; "So... Cold."

"Mum didn't like it when I was like that," she continued, much to both her and Sherlocks surprise. She took a sip of her iced tea and looked around the place.

"Look at them," she mumbled unhappily and nodded discreetly towards a man and woman happily enjoying their dinner.

Sherlock looked puzzled at his daughter, making her sigh.

"You're not very good at this, are you?" she asked unimpressed; "Look at his hand." Sherlock's eyes quickly found his right hand, but didn't see whatever his daughter did. He looked at Macy again.

"He's not married, no, but he is engaged. It's their first date though, so I guess that's something," she mumbled to herself. Sherlock looked at his left hand. Surely enough, a tan mark showed his whereabouts, even if his date didn't see it.

"She doesn't live in England though," he stated. Macy looked to the couple again.

"Spain?" she suggested.

"Italy," Sherlock corrected while hiding a smile.

"Damn," Macy mumbled to herself and took another sip. She looked at her father.

"Why don't you like me?" she asked suddenly.

"I dislike most people," he replied with a shrug, refusing to face her look.

"I'm not most people, though, am I?" Sherlock still didn't look at her.

"Why are you so desperate to be accepted as my daughter, but at the same time you refuse to actually be recognised as it?" Sherlock asked, finally facing her daughter, who uncomfortably shifted in her seat.

"What do you mean?"

"You desperately want me to see you, to care for you. But at the same time, you go by 'Macy West'. If you wanted to be seen as my daughter you would have gone by Penrose Holmes, wouldn't you?" he questioned, finally feeling like he controlled the conversation - a feeling he struggled to have when his solid copy was at the same place.

"I go by Macy West because you're a horrible person," she lied; "I go by Macy, because who would ever want to be your daughter?"

Macy focused on controlling her tears so they wouldn't show, knowing damn well that her father would see it as a weakness and use it to his advantage.

"Lashing out now, are we?" he snickered; "But don't worry about that, because you, Macy, are not my daughter, and you never will be either seen as it by me or cared for by me" he stated, putting pressure on her name.

Macy looked shocked at her father.

She knew he was cold, but she hardly believed the words that had come out his mouth. Not only the words, but how hateful they'd been, how he'd practically spit it out in her face, or how utterly uninterested he'd seemed after saying them.

Maybe he was right, she thought to herself; Maybe she wasn't his daughter. And maybe that was a good thing.