A/N: Hello! This is my first real Sherlock fic and so I hope that you will be merciful in your judgement of this. A couple of notes regarding the plot and characters. You may notice some little changes in Sherlock's outlook on things. It would be very hard not to change if one considers he got married to Molly had a kid with her. Now, before anyone says anything, let me explain about the child's name. Ceridwen is an actual name. It means "beautiful poetry" and comes from the Ancient Welsh Goddess of Poetry. I found it when looking up rare British names for the character. I figured Sherlock wouldn't want to name his child anything commonplace like "Elizabeth" or "Lily" and it seems to be a trait in the Holmes family to have a rare British name. If all goes well, this should not only be a multi-chap, but also a multi-arc story revolving around Sherlock's problems trying to be a widowed dad and his daughter's subsequent psychological/emotional issues as she grows up. There will be featured flashbacks of when Molly was still around to supplement plot points. This explanation is getting too long. I'm going to shut up now and let you enjoy the story.

WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of bullying/minor violence between children.

Chapter 1: Dysfunctional

For most children, coming home to find one's father putting a quart of blood in the fridge would be horrifying, but Ceridwen was no ordinary child. Her father was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, and growing up with him was most often anything but dull, though that didn't stop things from being plainly domestic. Upon hearing the nine year old enter the flat, the man turned to smile at her.

"I see I should be expecting a call from the headmaster." he observed. It was clear to see that his daughter had been in a fight for the second time that week, going by the traces of dried blood at the corner of her mouth and the slight limp in her gait.

"Annie Anderson is very keen to hurt me. All I did was point out that she was the one stealing candy from the jar under the teacher's desk." Ceridwen explained as if Annie's logic was completely incomprehensible, causing Sherlock to laugh, though silently he hoped that she had not been hurt too badly in places hidden by her coat.

"Did you get in a few good swings?" It was well known that there was a history of rivalry between the Holmes and Anderson girls, passed down from their fathers. Sherlock didn't mind at all if his daughter used excessive force to defend herself against her nemesis.

"She has a very hard face." was all the girl said in response before removing her coat, setting her school bag down next to the coffee table, and plopping down on the sofa. Taking up her laptop, Ceridwen flipped it open and started reading John Watson's latest blog entry. Sherlock never bothered asking her if she had homework as she always finished it at school. "It says here that you and John were chased down the street by a man with a paintball gun." Ceridwen suddenly said, raising her eyebrows. Sherlock looked over at her with a smirk.

"You'd run too if you knew the paint was laced with a deadly poison absorbable through the skin." He was looking at his own laptop now, reading emails from potential clients. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs with a bag of groceries.

"Hoo hoo." she called as she always did to announce her presence. "Sherlock, I brought some things since the fridge seems pretty empty of food." the old woman said cheerfully and Sherlock thanked her absent mindedly. "Oh, hello, deary. How was your day?" Ceridwen smirked sarcastically at this, but flinched at the pain the gesture caused.

"Oh, dull, as usual. Got sent to the headmaster's office again." Before Mrs. Hudson could say anything in response, Sherlock's phone rang loudly. "Speaking of which..." the girl muttered.

"Hello, Mr. Smith...yes, I know...she tells me it was self defense...I am fully aware of that...I suggest you stop wasting your time talking to me and give her father a call. It's his daughter who is the problem, not mine...yes, goodbye." Sherlock spoke in a falsely cheery voice before hanging up and muttering "incompetent". A moment later, he received a text from Lestrade and smirked upon reading it. "Right, I'll be off, then. Lestrade has a rather promising case for me. I won't be back for dinner. Mrs. Hudson, please make sure Ceridwen remembers to eat something. You know how caught up in her writing she gets." he announced as he got up to grab his coat and scarf.

"Can't I come?" Ceridwen asked, her raven eyebrows forming a frown. Sherlock shook his head.

"It's a school night. Do you really want to spend the night at Scotland Yard and have to ride in a patrol car to school tomorrow morning?" At this, Ceridwen made a pout face. She never actually got to go on cases with her father. When he did let her come with, it always meant she would only be hanging around Scotland Yard, watching whatever was going on there. Lestrade told her that the reason Sherlock never let her go to crime scenes and such was because he was being protective and didn't want her to get mixed up in anything. "Don't look at me like that, young lady. Enjoy watching crap telly with Mrs. Hudson." With that, the detective left 221B and flagged down a cab.

The moment Lestrade told him to sit down, Sherlock knew there was no case, which made him particularly miffed, but he was curious enough about what Lestrade wanted that he obliged, taking a seat next to John.

"As I imagine you have already figured out at this point that there isn't a case, I'll cut to the chase. John and I thought it would be nice, since she is turning ten tomorrow, to throw Ceridwen a little celebration." Lestrade told him. The dark haired man narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, clearly not expecting this from his friends.

"It's no more special than any of her other birthdays. It simply marks the day she has been around for exactly a decade."

"Yes, well, that aside, we thought she might need a little extra help not thinking about...you know, especially since it'll be the five year mark." John elaborated, refraining from saying 'Molly's death', knowing Sherlock would not react well. The consulting detective did not answer for a long moment and simply stared at Lestrade and John with the most serious of expressions. He was clearly considering their words very carefully. On the one hand, he appreciated that his friends were showing such consideration for Ceridwen. On the other hand, accepting what they offered would mean admitting to himself that his daughter might not be strong enough to deal with the heavy reminder of her mother's death. It was bad enough for him, but he could only imagine the pain it would inflict on the child's mind.

"Ceridwen's a good kid, Sherlock. We're just trying to help." Lestrade added reassuringly. He'd known Sherlock's daughter ever since she was born, even occasionally acting as her babysitter and even though she could be as socially inept as her dad at times, he genuinely liked her and was sort of like an uncle to her.

"Very well. What were you planning?" Sherlock answered finally.

Ceridwen had not expected Sherlock to be there when she got up the next morning, but there he was, lounging in the sitting room in his pajamas, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. Obviously that case hadn't been as interesting as he had hoped. Not feeling the need to say anything, Ceridwen went over to the cupboard in the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar. This sort of thing happened a lot, them going about their business without saying a word to each other. They weren't angry with one another or anything, they just didn't feel the need to fill the room with meaningless conversation. Ceridwen prepared herself for school and as she put on her blazer and then her coat, Sherlock came up to her and gave her a quick pat on the head. She gave him a smile and went out the door.

Ceridwen spent her day at school exchanging glares across the classroom with Annie (who sported a small bruise on her right cheek). On the playground after school, she sat quietly alone on a swing, waiting for Dean Watson to come out and meet her so they could walk home together. She was deep in thought as she watched her breath mist in the freezing air. Seemingly out of nowhere, she was grabbed from behind by her long, dark curls and pulled out of the swing roughly.

"You got me sent to the headmaster for the second time this week! Why can't you ever keep your mouth shut, freak? Why did you have to go and tell Ms. Aston?" Annie Anderson hissed, pushing the dark haired girl to the ground. It aggravated Ceridwen's injuries from the day before and she let out a groan of pain. One of the two of Annie's friends who were also there pushed Ceridwen over.

"Leave her alone or you'll get in more trouble!" a male voice called and the girls looked up to see Neil Lestrade and Dean Watson glaring at them. Annie and her friends wouldn't have paid any mind if it was just Dean, but Neil was sixteen and very capable of stopping them. They responded by running away and Dean offered Ceridwen his hand to pull her to her feet. Despite her stubborn nature, she took it and once she was on her feet, she quickly let go of his hand to brush snow off of her uniform.

"What are you doing here, Neil?" she asked like she didn't just almost get beat up for the third time that week, causing Dean to smile and shake his head. "I'd say from the way your eyes nervously shift about that you are worried about something and the stubble on your chin says you either were in quite a hurry this morning or didn't spend the night at home. Probably the latter because you skipped school and likely spent the morning with your girlfriend who you stayed with last night. Your mum saw you sneaking out, so you're avoiding your family and school because you know your parents can find you there, but it's a stupid move because knowing your dad, he probably thinks you've got yourself shot in some back alley and has a team searching for you right now." Ceridwen commented after looking at Neil carefully for a long moment, speaking very rapidly. She couldn't help it. It just spilled out of her mouth on impulse. "So the question remains, what are you doing here, Neil?" Neil let out a heavy sigh and gave the girl an annoyed glare.

"I heard about your little incidents with Annie, so I came by to check on you." he explained, knowing better than to comment on Ceridwen's deduction.

"Well, I can handle myself fine, thank you very much." the girl replied indignantly, smoothing her dark curls. Both boys rolled their eyes and laughed.

"No you can't, CJ. Annie might be shorter than you, but you are much thinner and don't know how to fight. Just because you gave her a little bruise yesterday doesn't mean you are suddenly a kung fu master." Dean jibed with a smirk. Because of that, she refused to talk to him when they began to walk home. Usually, Dean would walk with her to Baker Street and then go the rest of his way home alone, but he followed her to her door and she looked back him, confused. "Dad texted me and said to meet him here." he explained. She nodded curtly and continued on her way inside. When she entered the flat, her jaw dropped. Everyone was there waiting for her, smiling when they saw her come in. Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, and Greg; they were all there.

"Wh-what's going on?" she managed to say.

"Honestly, CJ, you didn't think we'd forget your birthday, did you?" Dean said, giving his friend a nudge. Trying to take this in, she came further into the room and John took her bag and her coat. Sherlock put his hands on her shoulders and guided her to her favorite spot on the sofa.

"I've been informed that ten is a special mark, so we set up a little celebration for you." he told her, taking a seat next to her. The girl gave a nervous, yet warm grin in response. She didn't really know how to react to all this. Then Mrs. Hudson reappeared from the kitchen, holding a cake with ten candles, ready to be lit on it. She set it on Sherlock's desk and gave Ceridwen a cheery smile, calming the girl's nerves a little.

"I've made that spiral cake you like so much, deary." she announced. Ceridwen was overwhelmed the moment she saw everyone pulling out gifts and placing them on the coffee table before her. This was very different from her previous birthdays. Usually, they were spent quietly playing chess with her dad. Elated, she took up the small blue box labelled from Sherlock first. Inside was a collapsable magnifying glass just like his. She beamed at him and leaned on his shoulder affectionately.

"In case we had any doubt she's your child." Lestrade laughed, thinking only Sherlock's kid could be so excited to get a pocket magnifying glass for her birthday. Suddenly, the girl let out a gasp at seeing that the gift that had been under her father's was from Mycroft.

"Your uncle sent that over this morning after you left for school. Apparently he was too busy being the government to come, but took the time to send you something." Sherlock explained. He knew his brother had a soft spot for Ceridwen, despite outwardly claiming to find her just as much of a hassle as his little brother. The girl opened the present and was in awe at the little pirate figurine inside. It was a woman pirate with long, curly black hair. She wore a dark blue tailcoat and a black hat with an enormous blue feather in it. She stood on her base with her hands on her hips, looking up with an air of pride and authority. Carved into the base was 'Captain Ceridwen'. Sherlock smirked upon seeing it. Ceridwen wrote about pirates in many of her stories and it reminded Sherlock of himself when he was her age. It was understandable that Mycroft would latch onto that fact when trying to think of a gift for his niece. There was a card too. It read: My apologies for not delivering this in person, but things are a bit busy at the office. I pulled a few strings and had this made for you. I do hope it is to your liking. -Uncle Mycroft, which was surprisingly kind of him, but Sherlock could read all the motives easily. Mycroft liked to take every opportunity he could to do right with Ceridwen where he had done wrong with Sherlock, especially if it in anyway might dissuade her from considering a career as a detective. Here, he was clearly steering her toward her interest in writing. Still, as much as she liked his gift, it could never be as useful as the other gifts she would receive and thus she would not value it as much. The thought made Sherlock grin.

Next, Ceridwen grabbed the silver wrapped box from Greg. She had no clue what to expect. She recalled Neil once joking about getting her a taser, but she knew Greg would have a heart attack if he saw her with a taser. However, she was pleasantly surprised to see a book when she opened the present. It was an encyclopedia of folklore from all over the world, which was new and interesting.

"Thank you very much." Ceridwen said, earning her an appreciative grin from Lestrade. He had struggled to find something she wouldn't find dull and it was a relief that he'd hit the mark.

She moved on to the package from the Watsons and raised her eyebrows upon seeing it was a very soft, dark purple jumper. Obviously Mary had chosen it given John's poor taste in jumpers. Ceridwen actually liked it and she felt lucky to have friends who knew her so well as to give her such great gifts. They sang Happy Birthday to her and ate cake and talked all evening (all of which Sherlock did his best to go along with), keeping her from the thoughts that usually plagued her on her birthday, but when they had all gone and it was just her and Sherlock left in the flat, she retreated to her room with her gifts, looking sullen. Sherlock, of course, did not fail to notice this and grew concerned, but waited a while before going in her room, figuring it was best to give her some time to think. When he finally went in, he found her there, laying on her bed, silently crying with her silver locket clenched in her hand. The man stiffened, never having been one to know how to deal with tears. He'd learnt from Molly that it was best that he not say anything, so he just came to stand next to his daughter's bed. She looked up at him with puffy eyes and spoke in a soft, shaky voice.

"No matter how hard I try, I can't shut away these feelings. I feel like something is wrong with me. Like I'm sick. It hurts every time I think of mum a lot. How can emotions make my body hurt?" Still shaking, the girl tried frustratedly to wipe away the tears from her eyes, but they just kept coming.

"Ceridwen, tears are pointless. Nothing will bring her back. You must accept that." Sherlock replied sternly, though he felt his own emotions slipping at seeing her like this. Ceridwen looked back at him angrily now.

"You think I don't know that!? I've told you! I can't stop it!" she snapped, taking Sherlock by surprise. How was he supposed to deal with this? Usually when Ceridwen had episodes of sadness or anger, he sent in Mrs. Hudson to deal with it. However, a part of him told him that he had to do this himself for once. She would never learn if Mrs. Hudson was always there to be her crutch.

"What do you want me to do? I can't bring your mother back from the dead!" He found himself getting angry now as well. Ceridwen sat up, wiping her eyes again before yelling back.

"I need you to tell me how to make it stop! I need you to help! And you're never there when I need your help for anything! I only get to see you a few times a week! You always leave me with Mrs. Hudson! Don't you care!?" This too was surprising for Sherlock and he was too shocked to respond right away, so for a moment, he just glared at her, but then he found his words again.

"What could you possibly need help with that Mrs. Hudson can't provide?" he demanded, utterly bewildered. The old woman cooked and cleaned, did the shopping, and provided Ceridwen with company when he was away in the evenings. How was that not enough?

"She never seems to understand. She never has answers. She just makes me tea and gives me hugs. And if you don't care, then I don't understand how mum ever wanted to marry you."

"Ceridwen Jacklyn Holmes!" Sherlock bellowed, now at the end of his patience. "Why do you insist upon being an ignorant, sniveling child!?" At this, Ceridwen looked deeply hurt. She prided herself in being more mature than others her age and to say she was just as bratty as the rest of them was a low blow. The only response she gave her father was to lay back and put her pillow over her head, clearly meaning that she wanted him to leave. "I'm not your mother. I can't be like her. So have yourself a good cry. It won't change that." With this, Sherlock left the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Late at night, when Ceridwen was sure her father was asleep in his own room, she grabbed some clothes, books, toiletries, and food, put them in her bag, and dawned her coat before climbing out her window onto a canopy below. Sliding down and landing firmly in the alley, Ceridwen set off into the night. Fresh snow crunched under her feet and she tried to ignore the strange looks she was getting from people she passed. For a long time, she just wandered about London, thinking of where to go. The Watsons were right out. They would call her father the moment they saw her. Same deal with the Lestrades. Her best bet was with her uncle, Mycroft. He was family and he would be willing to help her. Mind made up, Ceridwen stepped over into an alley that would take her in the direction of Mycroft's home. She was cold and it would take her all night, but she hadn't taken any money with her, so she couldn't get a cab. Everything was quiet in the alley but for the sound of traffic in the distance and the crunch of the snow with each of her steps. She could feel herself finally calming down in the tranquility of it all. Then a figure came out of the dark, wrapping his arm around her waist from behind and covering her mouth. She kicked and tried to scream, but to no avail and she was dragged into a nearby building where she felt a painful pricking sensation in her arm in the dark. Her eyelids grew heavy and in seconds, she was out.

A/N: ...and there you go. I have no idea how I did. I tried my best not get OOC. I speak and write a strange combination of British and American English, so please forgive me for any inconsistencies or confusion. As a note about Dean calling Ceridwen "CJ", they've known each other for as long as they can remember. When Dean started to be able to talk, he had trouble saying her name (I dare you to say "Cewidwen" five times fast.) and as such just started calling her CJ and never stopped. Also, I chose her middle name carefully. Jacklyn is a feminine form of both John and James (and Scottish for James is Hamish). In any case, please review. I value each one that I get like Eddie van Coon valued things with big price tags.