TITLE: It Takes a Village
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter One/ Daughter
RATING: T (violence/language)
A/N: This is based off of a post I made on Tumblr. This first chapter is terribly tiny, and sadly, not that great. At least, I'm not entirely happy with it. I just needed something to kick start the story. A little prelude. This isn't going to be a OC centered story. It involves the daughter, but focuses on each individual equally. This is just how I wanted to open this. This story contains BAMF John, Sherlock, Mary, well...just about everyone. Hehe.
I know the daughter idea has probably been done to death. So forgive me.
Title is obvious, but if you don't know, it's from an African proverb that means it takes a whole village/community to raise a child.
Chapter One: Daughter
Family units are never perfect.
No matter how polished they can appear in a photograph or how well everyone behaves at Christmas dinner.
The equation of father, plus mother, plus 2.5 children, plus dog, plus two story home, surrounded by a white picket fence was something left for old films.
It didn't mean that some families weren't happy.
No, her family was quite happy indeed. Well, most of the time.
There was that one time where her uncle threw a fork at her other uncle from across the kitchen. And the time her grandmother walked in on her father and mother - well, she didn't exactly enjoy thinking about that.
Of course, those men weren't truly her uncles. And the woman was not necessarily her biological grandmother.
But it was so simpler to say they were. To explain her entire family history to anyone was a bit, well, exhausting.
And that was if they actually believed her.
To tell someone that your father was a doctor in the military, your mother was an assassin - well, she never actually really told anyone that part as she wasn't technically supposed to know that little fact either - and your godfather is a consulting detective. Let's just say it didn't quite roll right off the tongue.
And that was just her immediate family.
She could continue on about her uncle who ran the British government. Her other uncles who were a Detective Chief Inspector and a forensics scientist. Her aunt who spent her time with dead bodies for a living. Her grandmother/godmother who - again, she wasn't supposed to know this - once helped her husband run a drug cartel.
It was a rather colorful bunch.
And definitely, absolutely, positively not perfect.
But they were family. All of them. Each of them connected by something tremendously thicker than blood.
And she loved them all.
Well, normally, usually, most of the time anyway.