Hi guys. This is my first attempt at a Sherlock story. I hope you all like it. I must warn, I am an angst junkie. :D
Chapter One
"Shhhh... darling, wake up. Its a dream. You are ok, I promise you... "
Miss Gloria Newland looked down at the now calmed child in her charge and tried to smile. She'd been in social services for going on twenty years now, and new better than to develope personal detachments.
But then, this whole case could only be described as extraordinary.
Satisfied that child was back to sleep, she leaned back in her chair and nervously scanned her surroundings. They were on a private plane, meticulously decorated more for utility than comfort. It did, however, beat the hell out of coach on the long trip from New York to London. The money that must have gone into this was mind boggling.
But special care was indeed made for the comfort of the main purpose for this trip, a four year old girl. Age appropriate dvd's to choose from, story books, toys, fresh fruits and milk. A soft blanket in Hello Kitty pattern and matching pillow for her comfort. Anything a child could want. Well, a normal child.
It was almost six months since Gloria was handed the file with a 'good luck with this one.' Having seniority, she assumed it was one of the more difficult. Indeed, it was. The file was several inches thick.
4 year old Laura Huntsworth had already seen more pain in her few years than anyone had a right to. Born nine weeks premature and addicted to heroine, as he mother was. Her mother, Darcy Huntsworth died shortly after the child's birth. A woman, a Miss Lucy Dettle claimed to be the child's aunt, and took custody of the child. But from what Gloria could see, there was no paperwork proving the woman was even related to the baby. Nor any notes that the woman even came to see Laura until after she was rehabilitated and gave an assurance the child would survive. Everything was just pushed forward. Very strange indeed.
There were absolutely no medical records after her release from the hospital. No shot records, no check ups...nothing. It was as if Laura dropped off the face of the earth. At least, until 6 months ago.
Miss Dettle, from what the police report said, drank herself into oblivion, then decided to drive off into a lake, the small girl strapped into a car seat in the back. It didn't sink far enough to cover the top of the car, but it was enough for Miss Dettle to drown. The child was found by a driver by, sitting calmly on the top of the car, just...waiting.
The police report said the child wasn't even in shock. She simply told the police that she didn't wish to die, so undid her safely fasteners, unrolled the window and climbed through the window. She held her breath until she buoyed to the top then climbed to the roof. She knew eventually someone would find her to care for her.
The poor babe was so terribly serious when she made her statement, the police were baffled. She just shrugged and asked what good panicking would have done, but make her lose thoughts and ability.
She was given over to social services after the hospital gave her a clean bill of health. She'd been in foster care since then, going from home to home while Gloria set about trying to find someone...anyone related to her.
All she could gather from her research on Miss Huntsworth was that she was originally from London. She had no family. She did not put a fathers name on the birth certificate. So, nothing on that end. The only clue to go on was in Miss Dettle's apartment. While looking for a note, or reason of any kind why she would want to kill herself and the child, police found a notebook nestled between her bed and nightstand. Inside were computer printed copies of London Newspapers. All photo's of one man.
Sherlock Holmes.
When Gloria started researching Mr. Holmes, it was an even more fascinating story than little Laura's. But as she read some of the less...complimentary...accounts of his life, the puzzle pieces began to click. Especially the former heroine use. Time ranges added up. When she looked over the pictures in the report, it was even clearer. Laura was the spitting image of this man. When she started to dig deeper, into less easily accessible records, she got a phone call.
"Miss Newland?" Came a smooth and charming voice. Charming in almost a creepy kind of way.
"Yes, how can I help you? "
"My name is Mycroft Holmes. I understand you a researching my brother. You are neither part of the police nor a journalist. "
"How do you... "
"Inconsequential. I wish to know what you want of my brother. You must understand you are poking around in very sensitive territory. Much of Sherlock's work is quite classified. "
"Mr. Holmes! Good to meet you. I don't mean to stir up trouble. I really don't. I just need some truth. A small girls life hangs on it. "
Gloria relayed the story to Mycroft. She should, and she knew it, have insisted he show some proof of who he was, but her gut instinct after two decades at this told her he was exactly who he said he was.
Mycroft was silent for some time afterwords. Finally when he spoke, she sounded to her almost...bored.
"Miss Newland, I assume the child has had blood work done? "
"Yes, yes of course. "
"I will need a sample. I will not be going to my brother about this until I know this child is indeed his. "
"I understand. "
"And I took the liberty of looking up this Miss Dettle... "
"What? How? We've only been on the phone for maybe 20 minutes... "
"I have...resources. I suggest you test the child's DNA against her's as well. You might be surprised. Fax me all the data you have. I will be in touch soon. "
Without so much as a goodbye, he ended the call.
And he was right. Miss Dettle was in no way related to Laura.
Now, here she was, flying to an unknown country, with Laura in her care. Laura knew little of what was going on. Just that she was leaving America to meet her father. The girl showed little reaction to the news.
Gloria brushed a stray thick dark curl from Laura's face and watched her sleep. She sent up a silent prayer that Sherlock was different than his brother. She wanted so much for this poor baby to have a good life. Full of love and laughter. A caring father who would protect her and give her lots of hugs and kisses. Something told Gloria that was sadly lacking in Laura's upbringing so far.
The captain called over the speaker that they would be landing in 30 minutes. Gloria begrudgingly woke Laura up and buckled her back in as they prepared for her new life.
Mycroft, Lestrade and Sherlock and John stood in the hanger waiting for the plane to land.
Sherlock might as well have been chiseled there. He didn't move, and John fought to urge to insure he was still breathing.
Gloria decended the plane, holding Laura's hand firmly in hers. She was a bundle of nerves, but as usual, Laura was completely serene. Introductions were made. Sherlock refused to look down into the child's face. Laura looked up at his briefly before shrugging one shoulder and turning her attention to the odd little man smiling at her most like the Cheshire cat in one of the books on the plane Gloria had tried to read her. Then she spoke the thought out loud.
John blinked in surprise for a moment, then laughed heartily.
"Yes, I suppose you call it a nervous smile. Your dad is my best friend, so I hope we get on well. I will certainly try. My name is John. Did you enjoy Alice in Wonderland? "
Laura thought on that for a few moments then threw John and Lestrade for a loop. Definitely got her brains from her sire.
"I suppose I found it inappropriate for me. "
Mycroft faltered almost imperceptibly. He thought he had done his research rather thoroughly.
"Why is that? "
"Sir...John? I was born on drugs, yet am handed a tale with more drug references than most prime time television! Its no wonder addicts have a hard time staying off. "
He hadn't thought of it that way, but she was right. Even the big grinned feline had what could only been deemed a bong.
"Right. Well, I'm sure Miss Newland and your father and uncle Mycroft have much to talk about. How about if we get you home? "
