Riley fumbled with the key until it got in and she was able to open the door, tired with the day. The new case, putting up with Sherlock, and the chess game against Mycroft tired her. The room was filled with the moving boxes and the furtniture that was already there, but Riley didn't mind. Mycroft had texted her saying that he hired some men to get their boxes early. She texted back a thank you.
“Can we do a quick process of elimination?" Ella said, almost not tired. “I know it's a huge chance that none of the men we met were your father, but let's just check?"
Riley tried to smile and answered. “Of course none of them are. Lestrade's irritated so much it could run in the family; John is nice, but both my mom and I are taller than him which points out there is no shortness trait in the family by far; Mycroft seems too snobbish and secretive, something my mother does not put up with; and Sherlock's too crazy and has no emotions. Daughters usually get what their father's traits are."
Ella shrugged and replied. “Just asking."
They started towards the bedrooms when a knock was heard. Riley opened it to John and smiled.
“I might want to let you know about Sherlock at night." John said. “On a case, he doesn't eat nor sleep. And when he thinks, he plays the violin. It just sounds awful when his thinking is as well."
“Thank you, John. We'll be aware of that." Riley answered.
As John left, Ella smiled. “So nice if him to come here ad warn us about Sherlock." She said.
As Riley watched Ella leave with a tired "night", Riley looked over to the mirror. Her reflection was blue eyes, dark brown hair, and light blonde streaks.
'So what,' She thought. 'There are other burnettes in London.'
Riley woke up in a sweaty mess. The nightmare was too real. It was of her mother drowning in a red lake and she was on shore, held back. The person holding her back pulled out a gun, fired twice, and her mother was gone. All she could hear was a raspy voice.
It sounded wierd but Riley was terrified at it. She quickly and quietly got downstairs to the living room. She started searching the boxes for her beautiful dreamcatcher when she heard a noise. Like a bluegrass fiddle, but it started turning softer.
Riley got up and tiptoed towards the music. Once in the hall, she was more careful on her footing. Lights came from Sherlock's flat. She stopped at the doorframe, invisible to any eyes, and listened; aware of John's warning on Sherlock with his violin.
'So, right now,' Riley thought. 'He's piecing together his thoughts, making them smoother.'
The tune was familiar, but she was sure it's a classical piece. Her body felt limp and she swayed dreamily back to her flat. Once she got to her room, she layed down and fell into a dreamless sleep.