Chapter One
Sherlock let out a long exhale of boredom. The consulting detective was reclined on the sofa, still dressed in his dark blue shirt and suit pants, with his deep red wine coloured dressing gown untied.
The curly haired man was bored out of his mind despite finishing a case not two hours previous. It was long enough to keep him occupied for the majority of the day but not long enough that he would binge on Chinese takeaway and crash afterwards.
The doorbell rang.
Followed by knock at the door captured Sherlock's attention, his eyes widening and head shooting up in similar fashion to a dog's when intrigued. It must be urgent for them to have rung to doorbell and knocked. But it was too late for a client. Mycroft would just let himself in and Lestrade would use the key John had given him, to stop him from banging the door down.
Mrs Hudson was visiting her sister and John on a date with the woman with bottle blonde hair that he met a Scotland Yard the day before. The consulting detective sighed, rising to his feet in a matter of seconds, stepping over the table and rushing down the stairs – his red dressing gown billowing behind him dramatically.
Sherlock rushed down the stairs, sock clad feet patting against the carpet on the wooden floors as he made his way to the door. He pulled the dark blue painted door open, a rush of air hitting him in the face forcing his hair off of his forehead as he was faced with no-one.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes peering outside of the door. The street was isolated, not a person in sight apart from someone climbing out of a cab a few metres down the street and a few cars passing. Curious, he thought to himself. He risked looking up at the sky despite knowing there was no reason to, nothing there either.
He stepped back into the house, ready to slam the door shut.
A soft whine stopped him. Sherlock furrowed his brows, reopening the partially shut door to look back outside. Another soft whine caught his attention, the consulting detective looked down at the source.
A baby.
There was a baby wrapped in a bundle of blankets on his doorway. Sherlock blinked in disbelief, this had to be some kind of illusion, a joke of some sort. The baby was still there. Looking up at him with wide blue eyes and pouty lips, cheeks rosy from the cold evening air.
He knelt down, pushing his dressing gown out from behind him to avoid treading on it. A similar action that he did with his coat, no reason to dirty it. The baby's eyes widened slightly, blue orbs following his movement and lips twitching slightly.
It was cold, whoever left the baby there had obviously known that the door would be answered and had hurried away, with no obvious hiding places she must have ran down the street. Whoever it was must have been aware that he would be in, most likely because of the light from the window. They'd wrapped the baby in blankets, so they didn't want the baby to come to harm but had no quarrels with leaving the baby outside to face the elements. Abandonment then. Someone had abandoned the baby on his doorstep.
It seemed quite content, so fed and changed recently before being left here. A hat on its head. Pink. A girl then. A small wisp of dark hair peeking from beneath the knitted hat, curled slightly and eyebrows dark, like her lashes. Eyes blue, deep blue, bright. Most babies had blue eyes though, not a clue.
The baby repeated its earlier whine sound, a sound of discomfort on the verge of crying.
Sherlock reached out, hesitantly. Large hands reaching round to cradle the baby's head – he may not know much about children but he was well aware of how a baby could not support its own head, it was fragile – and the other hand reached beneath her to grab her body. She was small, almost fitting entirely in his hands with the padding of the blankets. She made a sound at being moved, barely audible. He pulled her to his chest. A envelope lay on the floor – wet from the cold ground, hidden under the baby's body – Sherlock shifted the baby to rest on one arm, head on his elbow and body supported by the rest of his long arm. He picked up the envelope with her free arm.
It was larger, A5 in size. A cheap envelope but felt full, with more than one sheet of paper. His name was scribbled on the front. He turned round, back into the warmth of Baker Street, kicking the door shut with his right leg.
"Who are you?" He asked. Not talking to the baby in particular but to himself, it helped the brain process. But if it comforting the child then that wasn't exactly a bad thing. He made his way back upstairs with the baby held securely in his arm, turning the letter over curiously as he walked. "Hmmm" he hummed, thoughtfully.
He walked back into the empty longue. He should really call someone, like John, John couldn't be angry with him for calling if he had an actual reason. But Lestrade would be the obvious choice, being a policeman or Mycroft but that wasn't going to happen. Sherlock placed the letter on the desk and pulled his phone from his trouser pocket. He dialled John. He never called, the doctor would know it was important.
The phone rang four time before being picked up. Sherlock spoke immediately, not wasting time. "John, you need to come home."
"I'm on a date Sherlock" The army doctor hissed down the phone, obviously still at the restaurant with her then. Trying to seem calm but angry.
"But I'm calling, I didn't text."
"And is it an emergency?"
"Yes" Sherlock pouted. "Otherwise I wouldn't be calling."
"What is this emergency?" Sherlock could practically hear John scrubbing a hand over his face in annoyance and sending an apologetic look to his date.
"I found a baby on the doorstep" He glanced down at the child in his arms, she was still awake but fighting off sleep.
"A baby?" John repeated, unsure.
"Yes a baby" Sherlock scoffed. "A child that has recently been born, the product of reproducing."
"I know what a baby is Sherlock?" John breathed down the phone. "Why is there a baby?"
"She can't talk John and I'm not a mind reader" Sherlock snapped. "She was abandoned, obviously and there's a note but I can't open it with just one hand."
"Alright, I'm coming Home." The blogger announced, having had enough of Sherlock's over the phone explanation. He'd get more answers at the flat.
"Good." He told John before hanging up and throwing his phone in the direction of the sofa. He looked again at the baby in his arms, now close to sleep.
Small, one week old. His chest constricted slightly. He'd seen cases of abandonment before but never with a new-born, she was just out of hospital is the regulation baby grow and blanket were anything to go by. The mother had literally left the hospital and dumped her baby. She looked…well, she looked like him. Dark hair and blue eyes, sharp little cheekbones beneath plump cheeks. It was like looking at one of his baby photographs.
Shit. This was not good. His eyes flicked over to the letter on the table. His name standing out in black ink against the off-white envelope.
Nine months, he closed his eyes (jiggling slightly without realising) and thought back nine months.
There was a woman. Blonde, tall with tanned skinned and a French accent. She was visiting her parents in London and he met her at a bar, after a fight with John. It had only happened the once but apparently that was enough, going by the baby bundled in his arms.
Shit…Shit…Shit.
This was defiantly not good.
Sherlock looked down at the sleeping baby and exhaled. "Well, this is defiantly a bit not good."
"Sherlock" John called out as he ran up the stairs, hurried.
"Shhh" The consulting detective scolded. He was sat on the sofa, one leg crossed elegantly over the other with the baby cradled in his arms, fast asleep and snoring gently against his chest.
John stopped as he reached the door. "Sherlock" The army doctor exhaled at the sight of the consulting detective, still in his clothes with his wine red dressing gown over the top, a baby in a white blanket held in his long arms. She was asleep and wearing a small pink hat, a dark curl peeking out from beneath it. Red face scrunched up slightly.
"Thank God you're home" Sherlock muttered softly, throwing his head back against the back of the sofa exaggeratedly, hitting the wall with a soft thud.
John paused. "What the hell is going on Sherlock?" He asked softly, sighing and coming to sit on the coffee table in front of the consulting detective.
"I believe" Sherlock started, clearing his throat and cradling the baby to his chest a little tighter when she released a gentle whine of discomfort. "I believe that I may have done something….imprudent."
"Imprudent?" John repeated questioningly, raising an eyebrow. This was the closest thing to admitting he was wrong.
Sherlock lifted his head to look at John. "There is a letter on the desk. It will explain that she is…mine."
John frowned, his mouth opening and closing. "Yours?"
The ex-army doctor lent forward and craned his neck to look at the sleeping baby, her little nose scrunched in sleep and eyes closed, lips moving gently like she was suckling the air. "The result of a one night stand" Sherlock clarified.
"She's the image of you" John observed, still watching the tiny baby sleep in his friends arms.
"Nine months ago, there was a woman" Sherlock admitted. He looked slightly ashamed of himself, something John wasn't used to seeing but he didn't mention it.
"We should have her checked out" John told him.
"Hmmm" Sherlock hummed in agreement.
"How old is she?" John asked, getting to his feet and looking down on the consulting detective.
"About a week" Sherlock told him. It was a guess but all the evidence suggested that she was no more than a week old.
"Come on" The army doctor urged as he made his way towards the door. He watched with a fond smile as Sherlock pushed himself up from the sofa using his free arm while keeping a firm but gentle grip on the sleeping child.
"Everything seems fine" The doctor assured them. He looked up from the baby in the cot, awake and kicking her arms and legs out slightly in exploration more than anything else. Sherlock watched the male doctor intently, his neat brown hair and smart casual jeans and shirt beneath a lab coat. "She seems quite content but will be getting hungry soon, I'll have a nurse prepare a bottle for you." He gestured to a blonde nurse who nodded and left the room.
"Does she have a name?" The doctor asked, sitting up straight while keeping his hand in the cot for the baby to play with, her little hands reaching out to him.
Sherlock didn't answer. John looked at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the doctor. "No, not yet."
They'd read the letter. A note left by a woman called Celine Howards, explaining that the baby was Sherlock's and she found herself unable to take care of her. She didn't even name her.
"The mothers name? I could check hospital records." The Doctor suggested, helpfully.
"Celine Howards" Sherlock said simply, voice low and heavy.
The doctor nodded, explained that he would go and check the records and left.
Sherlock stepped away from the wall and closer to the cot. The baby squirmed, eyes flicking up to look at him and he lent down, making it easier for her under-developed eyes to see. Sherlock watched her kick her legs contently, stretching out in uncoordinated jerky movements.
"You could name her you know?" John told him, the question rhetorical.
Sherlock jerked expectantly, stepping back and putting some distance between him and the cot. "Don't be absurd John" He snapped. His gaze flickered to the army doctor, whose blue eyes were fixed on him in a mixture of confusion and amusement. "Why would I want to do that?"
John shrugged and moved to the coat. He smiled down at the small baby. "Everyone needs a name."
"Ridiculous" Sherlock scoffed. "You name something and become attached."
"And…" John looked up, confused.
"I'm not exactly the ideal father John."
"You could be."
"I really couldn't."
"How would you know?" John questioned, raising an eyebrow at him. It reminded him of the moment in Buckingham palace when Mycroft had questioned his being alarmed at sex. He narrowed his eyes at the shorter man.
Sherlock didn't answer. He just looked down at the baby for a moment. She was very…likable, he supposed. Tiny, a miniature human being, fascinating really and adorable…and well he made her.
A knock on the door captured his attention, he looked up and frowned at Gavin Lestrade.
