TWO YEARS LATER

Holly sat in her bedroom, staring at the walls. She glanced at the clock on her wall, noting the time. Mycroft told her that he would be home at nine. It was nine- thirty and he still hadn't returned from work.

Holly knew not to fret. He came home late often, and always in one piece, but extremely worn down and fatigued.

She sighed, and moved to her wardrobe. She pulled out a clean school uniform, and set it on the small, brown leather chair in the corner.

Holly finally let herself out of her bedroom and made her way to the kitchen, to get a glass of water before bed.

She pulled a glass down and filled it, then moved back to her room. As she headed up the stairs, she heard the door handle turn and open to reveal Mycroft, looking more stressed out than ever; behind him, Sherlock.

She gave a small smile to the men.

"I'm just going to bed," Holly announced, heading back upstairs.

"Goodnight Holly. I'll be there in a moment to tuck you in," Mycroft called from below. He sighed, noting Sherlock's smirk.

"Don't tease, Sherlock. It's childish," Mycroft said, placing his umbrella in the holder, knowing that his brother was going to tease him. Sherlock grinned as Mycroft sighed.

"Aren't you going to tuck your daughter in, Mycroft? You told her you would," Sherlock taunted. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Sherlock. Give me time to put my items in their correct spots," Mycroft said, heading upstairs. Sherlock followed closely behind, smirking behind his brother's back.

Mycroft placed his items in their places, and went to Holly's room. He pushed the door open, and moved to the side of the bed, Sherlock tailing him.

Mcroft pulled the duvet to Holly's chin and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. Holly stirred in her sleep, and her eyes fluttered open.

"Mycroft, I love you. Goodnight," Holly said, her eyes fluttering closed. Mycroft was taken aback. Holly still didn't know that he was her father, and yet, she loved him? How? Why? Mycroft was bombarded with questions.

He swallowed them all down and smiled slightly.

"Goodnight, dearest Holly. I have deep regards for you as well," he whispered the last part, but Sherlock still caught it. Sherlock chuckled lightly and shook his head.

"You still haven't told her. Mycroft, it's been two years. You must tell her that you're her father," he said as they exited Holly's room. Mycroft sighed deeply and trudged down the stairs.

"I'm not with her long enough to tell her. I see her when she's asleep, and then I send her off to school. I rarely see her when she's awake," Mycroft said, turning a corner in his home.

"Then make time to see her. She looks depressed," Sherlock said, following Mycroft to the study.

The men sat down and sighed in unison.

"Now, moving on. LAZARUS is in effect, so...."

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Holly got out of bed and pulled on her school uniform. She brushed her red- brown locks and pulled them into a bun at the back of her head. Making sure she had no hairs astray, she ran a hand over her head.

Slowly and tiredly, Holly made her way into the dining room, step by step. She sat at her usual spot at the table and put her head in her hands.

"Good morning, Holly. I assume you had a nightmare. Care to tell me what it was about?" Mycroft asked, sitting in his usual spot at the table.

Holly raised her head and turned to Mycroft. She sighed, and swallowed.

"Well, it was about my mum," she said, watching Mycroft closely. He froze in his seat, but his face gave no emotion away.

"What about your mother?" Mycroft asked curiously. Holly put her head back in her hands.

"The day I found her dead, you said something about finding my relatives," Holly said. Mycroft sighed and shifted in his seat.

"I believe I did say something along those lines," Mycroft mumbled. He turned his gaze upon the table in front of him. Holly lifted her head out of her hands, and turned her gaze to Mycroft.

"Did you find any? If so, are they good people, or is that why I'm still living with you?" Holly asked. Mycroft sighed once again.

He had to tell her. She would find out on her own if he didn't.

"Holly, I did find your relatives; they are relatively good people," Mycroft began. He didn't know exactly how to phrase what he wanted to say into words.

"Then who are they?" Holly questioned, a curious glint in her eyes. Mycroft sighed.

"You are going to think me awful, but you are a Holmes, yes?" He asked. Holly nodded slowly, watching Mycroft cautiously.

"And I am a Holmes. So is Sherlock," Mycroft said. Holly furrowed her brows.

"Yes. So, I am related to you, but how? And why would I think you awful?" Holly asked. Mycroft groaned and ran a hand over his face.

"Sherlock- is your Uncle," Mycroft began, "and I-" Mycroft sighed, "I am your father." Holly's eyes widened in shock. She didn't smile or frown, but looked lost and surprised.

Holly opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. After several attempts, she closed her mouth and gave up on words. Instead, she blinked rapidly.

Sensing this would happen- Mycroft expected worse- Mycroft got up from the table and went into the kitchen. Holly let the words sink in.