I had this idea for a story. I know that the last thing I need to do is write a new story, but I did anyways. This is a short first chapter; please let me know what you think of it.
This takes place about four months after I place the events of the "Reichenbach Fall". I hope you enjoy! Please review.
I do not own Sherlock. I own legitimately nothing about this; I barely own The Child.
'So, without further gilding the lily and with no more ado, I give to you,' the story!
The doorbell had, for the day, been replaced by the sound of a baby's cry.
John hadn't heard much that caught his attention recently, not in the past four or so months. He did, however, look up curiously at the noise of the baby's crying downstairs. Mrs. Hudson didn't usually have loud guests, especially not of the young sort. He went to the door (which was always kept open, just in case ... someone had wanted to come in and didn't have their keys on them) and peered down the stairs.
Mrs. Hudson was bent over something in the open doorway down the seventeen steps of 221B, fussing over it. John took a couple steps closer until he was on the landing, the floorboard creaking under his foot. Mrs. Hudson looked up at him as she heard the noise, her expression causing John to hurry down the staircase to her.
"What is it?" John asked, trying to look over her shoulder. Mrs. Hudson lifted the thing up by the handle to show John; it was a tiny, tiny baby, wrapped up in blankets and carefully placed in a baby carrier.
"It's addressed to you, John. It says "John Hamish" on this envelope." Mrs. Hudson pulled a long envelope from where it was tucked in the corner of the small mattress lining the carrier.
John took the envelope, trying not to look at the small, whimpering child. He tore the envelope open along the edge and pulled out the carefully folded letter inside. The paper was heavy and what John considered to be fancy; the handwriting was small, neat, and written in beautiful red ink. His eyes scanned the paper quickly, reading through all the words before looking back down at the child.
"The baby is Sherlock's." John said softly, looking at the crying infant. "It's ... Irene, she left the child."
"Oh, no." Mrs. Hudson looked down at the child as well, it's black curls unruly and tight, close to it's head. It's eyes were screwed up, colour undefinable, and it's face was round and bright red. "Is that all that's in the letter, then?"
"No, she says..." John swallowed and turned back to the letter, holding the paper so tightly that it crinkled at the edges. "She says that she had seduced Sherlock when he saved her, and that he had left soon after. She said he felt guilty and had to come back to me." John refused to look up at Mrs. Hudson, he didn't want to see the look on her face. "We weren't... we weren't anything then. I don't know why he would have..."
"Isn't it obvious, dear? He felt for you, even then." Mrs. Hudson's voice was soft, but John could hear it clearly, despite the loud cries. Mrs. Hudson turned her attention back to the child, trying to hush it. "What else does the letter say?"
John looked up at Mrs. Hudson and the child for a moment before looking back down to the letter. "Uh, it says that she knew he ... loved me ... and she heard about what happened. About his dea- his disappearance. And she said that Sherlock would've wanted his child to be raised by someone he truly loved."
John looked at the child, trying to breathe around the thick lump in his throat. "She says it's a boy. She remembered that I had told her and Sh-Sherlock that my name was John Hamish, if they were looking for baby names." He tugged out another piece of paper, also heavy, also carefully folded. A birth certificate. He handed it to Mrs. Hudson, who gripped the handle of the baby carrier tightly in one hand and took the certificate in her other hand.
"'John Hamish Holmes'," she read, "'born March eighteenth'- why, that was only a week ago!- 'to Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes, adoptive father John Hamish Watson. Weighing'-"
"That's alright, Mrs. Hudson, you don't have to read anymore." John told her softly. He handed her the other letter and the envelope. He didn't want to worry about how this all happened, or how she was able to give this child up for adoption and let John adopt him (without John himself even knowing, Mycroft must be involved in some way), or how he was going to care for this child. He just knew that this was all he had left; all he has left in the world of his Sherlock Holmes was staring at him through wet, sparkling, grey eyes.
He reached into the baby carrier and gently took the child out, holding him to his chest. There was a long moment of silence where Mrs. Hudson stared at John, John stared at the child, and the child stared right back at John. John, surprisingly, broke the silence first.
"I'm going to keep him, Mrs. Hudson." John said quietly. He looked up at the elderly landlord who had become a mother and caretaker to him; she was smiling, of course, and she had tears streaking down her face. John could always count on her to act like a normal human when he wasn't. "I'll raise him."
"Oh, John, of course you will." Mrs. Hudson pat him on the back with the clenched hand holding the papers. "We'll go shopping for a cot straightaway, hm? There's much to do, very much. John, get your coat."
John looked up at those words, and then back down at the child; the infant, so small in his arms, stared back with the eyes that almost felt like they were boring into his very soul. They were familiar, so very familiar, and John almost smiled.
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson." John clutched the child to his chest and turned to go back up the stairs to his flat. "The game, John Hamish Holmes, is on."
Alright, tell me what you think and if you want me to continue it. I'd like to continue it, but I won't if nobody's reading it. I hope you enjoyed it!
Sincerely,
Yerrie