John Watson was at the flat, reading up on some news when his phone buzzed. Checking his texts, he found that Mycroft had been texting him. What now? He muttered. But the text was not about Sherlock, in fact John had to read it several times.

Sending over a Refrigerator

-MH

A half-hour later, a large moving truck appeared in front of 221B Baker Street. A few rather burly men unloaded a box with what seemed impossible care and brought it into the flat. As John stared at it, bewildered, Mycroft walked into the flat.

"What is this?" John asked, gesturing towards the box.

A Refrigerator." the Government official replied.

"No, We've already got-"

Suddenly Mycroft morphed into the role that many call 'The Iceman.' He looked at John and quite seriously, said to him; "John Watson, you take care of what is inside that box."

With that, Mycroft left, leaving a confused John with a box. The men had actually turned it on its side. Suddenly the box began to shake. John swore, then grabbed a poker from the fireplace, wielding it like a lance. Suddenly the top was kicked open by a black boot. Then John saw hands, and a face. It was a girl! A teenage girl. Smiling, she stood up and climbed out of the box. "Hello Mr. Watson."

"Wait what?! Who are you?" the girl had straight brown hair and blue eyes tinged with slate.

"My name is Elise," she replied. "and I'm afraid I can't tell you anything else until Sherlock gets here."

John sighed, wishing for once the detective was here. But he was off on a case, and John knew better than to interrupt him.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock Holmes returned to the flat. He had solved the case rather quickly, but the cab had gotten stuck in a jam.

Opening the door, he threw his coat aside, and as he was untying his scarf he noticed the girl sitting on the couch. "Hello Elise," he said quite halfheartedly. He then walked into the kitchen, retrieving what looked suspiciously like a hand and a screwdriver.

"Anyone want to tell me what's going on here?!" John yelled, as he saw no reaction whatsoever from either party.

Sherlock returned to the living room, holding the hand, which now had a screwdriver sticking from the palm. "John Watson, Elise Holmes, E-"

John jumped from his chair. "SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU HAD A DAUGHTER!"

John was all ready to punch Sherlock in the face when he heard Elise sighing. "I'm not his daughter. My father is Mycroft Holmes. Please do unhand my Uncle."

John let go of Sherlock's collar. "Why didn't you tell me you had a niece, Sherlock?"

"Mycroft has a son too." Sherlock added. "Never thought it was important.

"Had." Elise corrected. "Andrew is dead."

"Really? How?" Sherlock seemed interested. John felt sick. This was his nephew who was dead, for crying sakes! Speaking of crying, Elise seemed to be on the urge of it now.

"Look, Sherlock, we don't need to ask her now..."

"Boys? Who's that up there?" That was Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. "Oh, Sherlock, is this one of your cases?" Sherlock answered no just as Elise answered yes.

John took it apon himself to make introductions. "Mrs. Hudson, this is Elise Holmes, Sherlock's niece. She's going to be staying with us for a bit."

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips. "Definitely not. No young lady is putting up with you two. Come along, Elise." I Elise got up, a bit bewildered, and retrieved her belongings from the refrigerator box as Mrs. Hudson opened up 221C.

Later, John brought in a cup of tea to Elise, who had just gotten settled in 221C. She took it, thanking him. "It's Earl Grey. Elise, your dad sent you here for a reason. Can I ask why?"

"Yes, you'd better get Uncle Sherlock."

Sherlock entered, and Elise began to tell her story.

"I was just bored, in science, when the teacher got a phone call. He got a funny look on his face and told me to go to the office. So I went, and I saw dad and Anthea, and I saw they'd been crying. So I ask what was wrong, and they told me Andrew had been killed at Uni. But it wasn't a random act of violence, no. Someone had gone through the trouble of finding Andy, and then leaving a message."

"What kind of message?" Sherlock asked, a bit too enthusiastic.

"A number. The Roman numeral for three." Elise drew it in the air.

"How do you know it wasn't some gang symbol?" John asked.

Instead of replying, Elise put on her shoes. "Any chance we can go to the cemetery?"

Author's Note

updates to come soon, sorry for those of you who read it at first, somehow my copy-n-paste got messed up. -_-