Sherlock Holmes sat in his living room, eyes closed, fingers steepled against his chin. Mycroft and his wife were dead. A car crash. The detective tried to make sense of how he should feel and what he was feeling now. He knew he should feel sad and be mourning his brother's death but the knowledge that he died instantly calmed him for some odd reason.
"Sherlock…"
John's voice broke him from his thoughts.
"What is it, John?" He asked, looking at his friend.
"Are you alright?"
John mentally smacked himself for the question, but he didn't know what else to say.
"Thank you for your concern, John, but I'm fine," Sherlock said, standing. "I'm just worried about my niece now. She can't live here after all."
John gave him an odd look.
"Sherlock, she's only four…You can't just put her out. Mycroft specifically wanted you to watch after her if anything were to happen to him," John reminded.
"He doesn't understand how dangerous it is. I have to watch out for you with cases, let alone her… It would kill me if anything happened to her…" Sherlock's tone was strained.
John peeked into Sherlock's bedroom at the little form sleeping on the bed. All she knew was that her mom and dad were no longer around because of an accident.
"What will we do?" he asked.
Sherlock looked at him.
"We?"
John turned.
"Yes. If I'm living with you, she's in my care as well."
Sherlock smiled a little. This made things easier. He had been looking at it as only he being responsible for her. Now he had some help.
"I'm not sure yet," he admitted.
John led Sherlock to his room.
"You need some rest. I'll take the couch tonight."
"John, I'm fine…" Sherlock protested.
The blonde pushed him into the room.
"Rest," he demanded. "Trust me."
Sherlock didn't argue. He went over to the bed and lay down, curling up. He yawned. Maybe John was right…he did need rest… He was out in no time.
Sherlock awoke the next morning to a very loud scream. He jumped out of bed and hurried to the source. His little neice stood in the hall grinning at a very disgruntled looking Sherlock and a very terrified looking John.
"What happened?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing." Her grin widened. "I wanted to see what would happen if I screamed as loud as I could."
Sherlock sighed and got down to her level.
"Ophelia. . .Listen. . . you cannot scream unless you're in trouble, understand?" He asked.
She blinked at him with eyes that mirrored his own, her long curly black hair falling into her face. He brushed it away.
John couldn't help smiling. For a diagnosed sociopath, Sherlock was actually pretty good with kids.
"Breakfast anyone?" He asked.
"Just tea for me, thanks," Sherlock replied.
"I want pancakes!" Ophelia shreiked.
John laughed.
"Sherlock, is the pancake mix safe?" He asked. He didn't trust anything after the exploding flour incident which had left him blowing clumps of it out of his nose for weeks.
"Should be," the detective replied.
He sat on the couch and steepled his hands together. Ophelia saw this and climbed up onto the couch next to him, doing the same thing.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
He looked at her.
"Thinking," he replied patiently.
"About what?" She asked.
"Just. . . thinking." He didn't want to admit that part of him was still wondering what they would do with her.
She looked at him.
"When is daddy coming back?"
This question caught him off guard and he froze. It was a long time before he answered, but she was patient.
"He's not coming back," he said, voice a strange mix of emotions.
She looked to be contemplating this.
"So. . . are you my daddy now?" She asked.
"N-...yes...yes I am I suppose... but you can still call me uncle sherlock," he replied.
She smiled.
"Good."
Leaning forward a little, she peered into the kitchen. "Is John my mommy now?"
Sherlock couldn't help grinning.
"Yes...I guess he is."
"Sherlock I-" John stopped as he walked into the room that night, home from work at the surgery.
He smiled softly.
Ophelia had fallen asleep, nestled against her uncle. Sherlock held an open book in his hand and was sound asleep as well. John got a blanket and covered them up, then sat down in his armchair. There was no way that Sherlock was going to give Ophelia up. They would figure things out when cases came up, but for now things were going just fine. They would be a real family.