There was a knock on the door of 221b baker street. The storm outside was thick with blowing whiteness as the snow swirled and blew Christmas decorations down the street. Sherlock Holmes was thinking- and was in one of his hours long silence. John Watson, on the other hand, trooped down the stairs, shivering in his beige jumper. He opened the door and jumped as a blast of cold air hit him straight in the face. There was no one standing outside, but he looked down and saw packages. There was several bags, boxes, and a basinet that seemed to be holding a large white teddy bear wrapped in blankets. He brought in the basinet first, setting it on the ground inside the flat. The boxes and bags came next, and he called to Mrs. Hudson to help him, please. She carried the basinet up the stairs and set it down on the dining room table after John nearly fell over. He put the boxes and bags on the ground, walking over to the basinet. Mrs. Hudson had gone back downstairs. "John," said Sherlock, sitting up.
"What, Sherlock?" asked John, diverting his attention to the teddy looking thing. It wriggled. It turned as John stared placidly at it, finally plopping to reveal a pink face in the fluffy white suit. John yelped, which caught Sherlock's attention, and he looked over. The baby giggled and cooed. John unzipped it from it's suit and picked it up. A note fell out of the bundle of blankets. Sherlock came over and whisked it open with sure fingers. He read it swiftly, his eyes growing wide.
"Isabel," he said, looking at the child. She looked back, grey-blue meeting grey-blue. She bounced in John's hands, looking at Sherlock with a blank expression. Her dark, curly hair bobbed, her raspberry lips pressed together. Her nose twitched and she grabbed the air in Sherlock's direction. John looked at Sherlock, noticing the resemblance between the two. Sherlock grabbed her out of John's hands, examining the girl. "Uhm.. What do I do?" he asked, looking at John.
"Hold her. Where's that note?" asked John as Sherlock brought the baby closer to his chest. She snuggled into the crook of his neck, breathing softly. John whistled, his eyes wide. "Isabel, nice name. Isabel Katherine Holmes. Mother was Katrina Allen. Died last week in a plane crash from Germany, so you get the baby." John looked at Sherlock, who was gently rocking back and forth, ignoring whatever John had been saying. His eyes were on the baby, who was cooing and quickly falling asleep. "Sherlock, she's not very old. Only nine months." Sherlock nodded, his eyes flicking to John from Isabel. The infant sighed and was breathing deeply. "Are you going to keep her?" asked John, leaning on the table. Sherlock looked appalled at John.
"Of course I am!"
"Sorry mate, course you are. Where's she going to sleep?"
"My room," said Sherlock, walking softly down the hall to his room. It was then that Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs again, this time followed by Lestrade and Molly.
"Merry Christmas, John!" said Molly cheerfully. "Where's Sherlock?"
"Happy Christmas Molly. He's in his room, attending to his ahh.. Christmas present."
"You didn't get him an animal, did you?" asked Lestrade skeptically. There was a wail. "You did!"
"I - he hasn't opened his gift from me yet and-"
"John! Make a bottle!" Sherlock called. John sighed, sifting through the bags until he found the proper things. Sherlock waltzed out if his bedroom, carrying the shivering bundle of baby. John handed the finished bottle to Sherlock, gave it to Isabel, who quickly started eating, making baby noises as she sucked down the milk. "D'you have a pacifier?" asked Sherlock as her eyes began to droop shut. John handed a pink one to Sherlock, who replaced the bottle with it. Isabel snuggled into his side again, sucking on the pacifier. The guests all stared at Sherlock in surprise, as he finally looked up and noticed them all there. "Oh, hello. Happy Christmas everyone."
"Did you adopt a baby?" asked Lestrade, staring at Isabel.
"Of course not. Look, same hair, eyes, lips."
"You mean, that thing is yours?"
"She, Lestrade, is Isabel. And yes," he said, rocking back and forth again. Molly squealed.
"Can I hold her, please?" Sherlock nodded and Molly took the sleeping Isabel, who snuggled closer into Molly's chest. Molly sighed and rocked Isabel back and forth. "She's precious, Sherlock!"
"Yeah, how'd you make something so adorable?" asked Lestrade, sitting on the sofa and peering at the Christmas tree. Sherlock chuckled. Isabel yawned, blinking open her long-lashed eyes and staring at Molly. Molly laughed quietly. Mrs. Hudson said,
"Oh dear, she's quite the pretty one." Sherlock yawned. Isabel wailed again, twisting in Molly's arms and searching for Sherlock. Sherlock picked up the basinet and a bunch of blankets and went into his room again, quickly returning to the wailing Isabel and the increasingly anxious-looking Molly. The others had started opening presents and pouring the wine, blocking out the crying. Molly handed her to Sherlock when he held out his hands, and Isabel calmed down and closed her eyes as soon as her little body hit Sherlock's chest.
"Oh, you're so cute," said Molly, sighing. Sherlock smiled and dismissed himself back to his room, lying on the bed with Isabel on his chest.
John came in with tea the next morning to find Sherlock still asleep with Isabel perched atop his chest, breathing slowly and staring at his face. He knew that Sherlock had put Isabel to sleep last night in the basinet with a onesie decorated with ducks on. She was now sitting on his chest, basinet on the floor where she'd slept. And it wasn't just that, she had on booties now, and a hat. When she heard John, she turned and stared with innocent grey-blue eyes and waved a little hand at him. He waved back and she giggled. Sherlock woke up with a jerk, and Isabel tumbled off of his chest to the other side of his body, landing in a blanket and halfway in the crook of his elbow. He looked at her and she blinked back.
"What is she wearing?" he asked, averting his gaze to John. "It's not what I put her to sleep in."
"I dunno. I walked in with tea and she was up there with a hat and booties on."
"Well," said Sherlock softly, picking up Isabel.
"Da," she said.
Sherlock stared at her.
"She's only been here for a day, she shouldn't recognise me as her father."
"Perhaps her mother had pictures of you?"
"Hm." Isabel copied the noise.
"Hmm." She did it again.
"You're a very advanced baby, Isabel."
"Yerav urry adfnsby, Bel," she repeated.
"You're like a parrot," said John.
"Par," she said.
"It's not advanced; she's just copying the noises we make," pointed out Sherlock. Isabel made a very exasperated noise and then wailed. Sherlock looked slightly frightened as he put her back on the bed and dashed out of the room.
"Sherlock, where are you going?!" called John, following.
"I'm getting a nappy." He was digging through boxes. It took a few minutes before he found some and returned to his bedroom to find Isabel nowhere in sight. John peered around worriedly. The flat still hadn't been baby-proofed. But she was only nine months old, surely she couldn't-
They heard the soft pattering of baby feet down the hall. "John!" Sherlock yelped, leaping out the door. John followed quickly, searching for the mini-female-Sherlock.
When they reached the stairs, they split up. John went up, Sherlock down. John heard a faint pattering as he climbed up the steps two-by-two. When he came into his room, he saw that she had somehow opened his wardrobe, climbed inside, and pulled out one of his jumpers. And she had crawled inside and was peering at him with an adorable Sherlock-like grin from the neck. She crawled out and whimpered, sitting up and grabbing her tummy.
"D'you want some food?"
"Mm?"
"Mm." Isabel's face lit up and John scooped her up.
"Mm, mmmm!" Sherlock appeared at the bottom of the stairs, shaking a bottle. "Da, mm!"
"That means she's hungry?" John nodded and gave her to Sherlock. She greedily sucked down half the bottle before spitting it out. "Mm! Ju!"
"Ju?" Sherlock stared quizzically at John.
"Ju! Ju!" she cried again, looking at John and squirming.
"John?" said John.
"Ju!" said Isabel, grabbing for John. Sherlock passed the squirming mini to John. Isabel squealed in victory and wrapped her arms around John's neck. John pointed at himself. "Ju," then at Sherlock, "Da."
It was now four in the afternoon, Sherlock was putting away the things that had been in the boxes, John was fixing a late lunch, and Isabel had finally fallen asleep with a battered stuffed dog on the chair. Sherlock, instead of moving her, draped a fluffy yellow blanket over her and resumed unpacking. There was a knock on the door. Sherlock groaned as Mycroft entered the flat, immediately wondering what the hell his younger brother was doing. "Sherlock."
"Mycroft." John slowly backed towards the sleeping infant in the chair.
"Happy Christmas, brother." Sherlock scoffed.
"Is that really all you came for? Happy Christmas."
"It was, until-" Something tugged on his trousers. He looked down to see Sherlock- well, obviously not, but the resemblance was uncanny. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, the other grasped around a threadbare stuffed dog. She was wearing a pink jumper and purple sweatpants, yellow socks adorning her baby toes.
"Da," she said, pointing at Sherlock. "Ju," she said, pointing at John. "Mummy," she said, lifting the dog. Mycroft stared at the girl. Then his eyes moved to Sherlock. Questioning. "Da!" she shouted, plopping onto the floor, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She curled into a ball around the dog and stuffed her thumb in her mouth. Mycroft looked down again and picked her up with surprising gentleness. He cleared his throat.
"Who gifted this to you?" he asked.
"She, Mycroft, she. Katrina Allen did. Well, not purposefully."
"How 'not purposefully'?"
"Katrina died last week in a plane crash."
"Ah, the one from Germa-" he was interrupted by a small outburst from Isabel.
"Crof?" John looked at Isabel.
"Did she just..." started Mycroft. Sherlock nodded.
"Crof. Crof, Da, Ju, Mummy." Isabel squealed and searched the room for Sherlock. "Da!" she cried, stretching as far towards him as Mycroft would allow.
"No," said Mycroft. She looked at Mycroft with a scowl, which quickly turned to a quivering lip. She opened her mouth and a small wail came out.
"Da!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face. Her arms and legs flailed as Mycroft held her as far away from his body as he could, looking rather alarmed. He sat her down on the ground and she took off, pulling herself to her feet and toddling to Sherlock, who took a baby rag, wiped off her face, and picked her up. She made a victorious noise, rubbing her tired eyes. She yawned, snuggling into the crook of Sherlock's neck, eyes closed.
"You interrupted naptime, Mycroft," said Sherlock in a scolding tone.
"What's her name?"
"Isabel Katherine Holmes."
"Hm. Well, regards to my favourite niece when she awakens. I have business to attend to." Sherlock turned as his brother exited the flat, rocking again. Isabel made a buzzing noise into Sherlock's neck. John returned to making lunch, staying silent while Sherlock stared at the piles of baby clothes on the table. John knew he was thinking, or deducing what he could from the soft, sweet smelling baby clothes. Isabel buzzed again, shifting slightly.
"I don't understand.. Why she didn't tell me that she'd gotten pregnant and that she'd had a daughter, my daughter." John looked at Sherlock, who's eyes were focused on Isabel. John shrugged.
"How'd you meet her, anyway? Katrina, I mean."
"She was my flatmate for a year and a half. Moved out about a year and two months before you moved in. The two weeks before she left was when it happened, and she didn't know and I didn't pay enough attention."
"So why didn't she tell you?"
"Didn't want to bother me, perhaps. Or she was just unprepared and didn't think about it. She moved back to Edinburgh with her sister." John nodded. Isabel stirred at Sherlock's voice, coughing and shivering, curling up. Sherlock removed her from his neck, grabbing the closest baby blanket he saw; a larger pink blanket with Isabel's name stitched in the corner. It was covered in small purple butterflies. When he was sure John's attention was averted to lunch, Sherlock's lips whispered across Isabel's forehead as he wrapped her in the blanket and took her into his room. He put her in the centre of his bed gently, creating a circle of blankets and pillows around her. She made the buzzing noise again, but it was more of a hum now as she squirmed. Sherlock left the room, closing the door almost completely, and going back down the hall.
