Disclaimer: I have no original creative rights to these characters, they bring me amusement and no profit what so ever.
Both Sherlock and John came home in the evening, from a case that left Sherlock thrilled about solving it, they climbed the stairs, up to their flat, John behind him.
"Oh, the look on Anderson's and Donovan's faces was priceless, if only my phone had a camera…" Sherlock stopped, frozen in his steps, just staring.
"Actually, I took a picture…?" John noticed the detectives frozen pose and face, he looked stunned.
"Sherlock? Are you-?" John looked in the same direction as Sherlock, there, in the genius seat, was little girl around a very young age with medium black curly hair, a round shaped face, brown freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are what startled John, they were the same ice blue color as Sherlock's, only the shape was round with long eyelashes that were damp because she had been crying. She looked up at the men; the sadness on her face was heartbreaking, John felt his lively spirits dampen but curiosity got to him as well.
"Good, you're both here, this little one didn't tell me much, only her name, it's Margaret, but she did say that she wanted to see Sherlock Holmes, and who am I to deny such a cute face, the poor dear, so I let her in. Since you're now here, I'll be off then." Mrs. Hudson left, curious about the little girl but figured it was none of her business, the poor thing might have lost a cat and wanted the detective to find it.
"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson." John said
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock mumbled, still peering at the girl. Sherlock waited until he heard the door shut of the elderly lady's flat.
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock said in a far away voice, which puzzled the doctor.
"Daddy, -hic- Mummy's dead."
Oh and did that simple statement floor John, so many things were going through his mind, he didn't know what to think, do or feel, he needed an explanation but on the outside he was looked just stunned as Sherlock.
The detective crossed the room, pulled a chair from the desk and sat near the young one, while motioning that John should sit in his own chair. John complied, still not sure of the situation and wanting answers.
"Tell me everything." Sherlock stared at her, an internal frustration in his face.
Holding her stuffed owl close to her, she began.
"Mummy was ill, I don't remember the name of her disease but she was weak. Mummy and Scott tried to do something about it, going to the doctors all the time but they couldn't help her, said she was too far into the illness and it was too late stop it. I saw Mummy die, -sniff- it looked like she was sleeping, but she wasn't."
John noticed she spoke clearly for some one so young, but her voice started to get wobbly, trying to hold in her tears. She continued,
"Mummy died yesterday, and this morning, Scott made me pack all of my clothes and brought me here, he said he had no reason to take care of me anymore –sniff-"
John just noticed the small suitcase, decorated and blue, pink, and purple flower print.
"Here, these are letters from Mummy and Scott. –sniff-"
She pulled them from her jumper pocket and gave them to Sherlock, he read the mother's letter first, John was trying to read Sherlock face, but he only saw a quick moistening of his eyes before he blinked them away. Sherlock handed the letter over to John, which surprised him but he read it as Sherlock started on the second letter. The first letter, from Margaret's mum, Gretchen, was terribly heart breaking, even John was tearing up a bit because she was apologizing to Sherlock about their agreement, her illness, and everything, it was like the poor woman was having a nervous breakdown. Margaret simply sat there, watching both adults read, still clinging to her owl toy.
Sherlock threw the second on the floor and glared at it, John gave him a questioning look, but Sherlock just sneered at the offending paper. The doctor reached to get it and read. This letter, from Scott to Sherlock was horrible, full on offensive insults towards Sherlock, Margaret and even some towards Gretchen; the nerve of this guy was unbelievable. The way it was written was hasty, compared to Gretchen's letter, which was well thought out to express her self, but Scott's letter brought anger into John's heart, just who was this heartless prick? John felt compassion for Gretchen's letter and little Margaret, but he also felt anger not only towards this Scott fellow but also Sherlock, for keeping the fact that he had a daughter, a secret from him. It made John want to question the trust in their relationship, not at the moment, but definitely later.
"I read the letters, both of them. Mummy said sorry too much, but she had nothing to be sorry about. Scott said a lot of mean stuff, I know he doesn't like me or Daddy, but he didn't have to say such things about Mummy!" Margaret spoke her heart, cracked voice and all, but she couldn't stop herself from crying out loud, an upsetting cry that could melt and soften the hearts of strong army men, at least that's what Watson thought and felt. Margaret squeezed her stuffed owl crying into it. Sherlock did something that shocked John but also made him fall in love with the man all over again. Sherlock got up from her chair, picked up Margaret, sat her on his lap when he sat in his chair, and let her cry on him, while he held her close and comforted her with soft words, but glaring into space. The scene was very paternal and John never thought of actually seeing how fatherly Sherlock could be but here they were, father and daughter, together. The temptation to use the camera on his phone was strong; there was something about this vision in front of him that he felt affection for but he couldn't place it and yet there was this little part of his brain that said he, John, was intruding on a family moment and that he shouldn't be there. John mentally punched that idea away, but it still ate at him, along with the questions he wanted to ask, but he would have to wait, the little one needed her father, John could see that.
~Further Into The Night~
Margaret fell a sleep crying in her father's arms, while John got some blankets and pillows to put her to rest on the couch. Both Sherlock and John silently retired to their room, leaving the door a bit open. Sherlock sat on the bed; face in a mixture of quiet frustration, while John was pacing a bit, his thoughts and feelings coming to the surface. With some space, John stood in front of Sherlock, looking at him while the detective wasn't making eye contact, his eyes were on the floor, but he knew what John wanted.
"Go on, tell me."
"Tell you what, John?"
"Where she came from?"
"From a womb, obviously!"
"Dammit, Sherlock! Don't, don't do this. I want an explanation."
Sherlock stood silent.
"Sherlock, I want a an explanation."
"I was depressed, drunk and on drugs, it was a party I went to. She, Gretchen, was drunk and we, well, you know."
"Ah, yes, I know. The result of that is sleeping on the couch as we speak."
Sherlock glared a bit at John for the remark.
"When I found out, I told her my job was dangerous and would understand if she wanted to aborted it, she didn't want to, she wanted to keep it. Mycroft stepped in and we worked an agreement. The child would have no association with me, but I would support her through Mycroft."
"Yes, everything goes through Mycroft, doesn't it? Mycroft knows everything."
"He's my brother, John."
"And what am I Sherlock?! Huh? I'm your fiancé, you prat! Didn't you know that you can trust me with a secret this huge?! Hm? Were you ever going to tell me about her?"
"No."
"No?"
"Yes 'No', and with good reason. Mycroft was protecting her, since he's more or less the British Government. No one knew about her, not Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Adler, not even Moriarity, John. Not one person knew I had a daughter, that's how well protected she was and now? It's all gone to shit."
Sherlock put his head in his hands and John stood silent, trying to comprehend all that was said.
"Sherlock." No action response
"Sherlock, look at me." Still no response
"Please?"
Sherlock looked at John through glossy blue eyes, reminding the doctor of their time in Baskerville, when Sherlock claimed to have seen the hound. John was taken back a bit and felt for him.
"You're really worried?"
"Of course I am, she was safe, with no direct contact or affiliation with me. She doesn't even have my last name."
"Sherlock, I-!"
"If you're wondering if I worry about you too, I do, but I know that you're capable of taking care of your self. You have experience in combat and firearms. What does she have? Nothing. She's a defenseless lamb if anyone was to take her, and they would do it, to get at me."
Sherlock lied on his back, on the bed, staring at the ceiling. John joined him, lying on his side, very close to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, I didn't want to know if you're worry about me, I know you do. I wanted to apologize for getting mad at you for keeping her a secret, I understand why you did it, but you could have told me when we got together as a couple, you can trust me."
"I do trust you-
"Let me finish, its secrets like this that need to be shared, and I'll keep your secrets safe, Sherlock. You know I'll never betray you."
That hit Sherlock, right in the heart. He turned his face to look at John.
"Have I betrayed your trust?"
"Maybe, a bit, but you also earned it back."
Sherlock had a small smile, just for his John.
"I'm sorry John."
"I forgive you, so long as you trust me with your secrets."
"Even the Christmas presents and such, but those are surprises."
"No, not those, you can keep those. Nobody wants a spoiled surprise, but trust me with the life changing ones."
"Shit, this is a life changer, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Do you mind?"
"Not one bit."
Author's note: That was bit of drama in the Sherlock world, fictional drama is always better than real drama. Oh the temptation to continue this is strong, but after I try to make sequels to other fics I've been neglecting, mah fic babbus need meh!