Verity
Beautiful sleeping baby
don't let it pass you by
when the leaves on the autumn trees all fall
what do you find
lay your head down, lay your head down...
beautiful sleeping baby
sail on the river wide
when the leaves of autumn trees all fall
baby don't cry
lay your head down, lay your head down...
Lay Your Head Down- Peter Bradley
Walking through the chilled London air, Sherlock was content. Turning he went down the small side street that lead toward home. The sounds of London all around him.
Yes. Content.
Sighing, he gamboled forward pressing toward their flat and his husband. Passing a homeless man, pays him some money out of his pocket, blesses him, and sends him towards the arms of his network. One more soul. He heard a mewling of some sort, chalked it up to some small animal. Then a rustle.
Kitten.
Hmm, what was one little soul? One that could come and go? Purr and fuss. He waivered wondering if John would be angry, deciding his beautiful husband would at first love the fur, then curse it, settling down. Yes, one more soul for 221 B it was then.
Coming up to the rubbish bin, he begins picking through carefully. Looks like a lot of paper and packing material, no food for a mewling to be rustling for.
Wait.
No more movement, movement very faint. Very gingerly he begins to pick through the refuse until he finds her. So little. So alone.
Yes one more soul for us Hamish, one more.
"Hamish! Come quickly!" Sherlock cries, "Husband, now! Please!"
Bounding the steps two at a time he bursts in with a small bundle. Running into the kitchen he immediately begins running water to heat it and clears the papers on the table to the counter, cases that John has recently brought up from 221 C.
"What is it Sherlock, are you injured?" John comes in a hurry. Takes his husbands state in, begins to take his coat off to get a better look. Sherlock lets him, completely focused on the bundled coat on the table.
Picking it back up he gingerly holds it to his chest. Moves toward the sink, pick up a clean cloth and warms it under the water.
"Hamish," Sherlock states his name so full of breaking emotion, "Hamish I found a soul tonight."
Still not quite understanding, knowing sometimes Sherlock's emotions and vast vocabulary war with common usage, John comes up to him and stands shoulder to shoulder looking into his husbands arms.
He is instantly riveted to the ground. Tears welling up instantly.
"That's, aghm, that's a baby Sherlock."
Looking at the state of the poor thing she had been left to starve. Maybe found somewhere and put where someone might find the child. Very new, very malnourished…possibly a little early. "Sherlock, let me see it, yea?" He coaxed gently. Grabbing a pair of neo's from under the sink he put them on swiftly. Then offered his arms for the tiny child.
"She, Hamish. She," Looking full into his husbands eyes, "Not 'it'. She. So beautiful."
"Yes, she. Alright. I know lover." John coos at the waning child. Continuing to clean her while giving her a thorough once over with his trained eyes.
"Ring Lestrade. Now. He can take us to Bart's to properly look at her. Then have him call My to meet us."
"Alright, Hamish." He felt odd not having the child in his arms. It pulled at him terribly. Like the way it pulled at him when Hamish was not near. For the second time, tears came unbidden. He pulled out his mobile and rang Lestrade.
"Lestrade, what's going on John?" His brother in law asked amicably.
"Not John, its Sherlock. Must have taken his mobile…irrelevant." The detective was weeping, worried now because Hamish was so calm. Trying to give him things to do. "Gregory we need you here five minutes ago."
"Sherlock, what is wrong? Is John alright?"
"Please, brother, just get here." Too many words to explain. "We need help."
With that he rang off and went back to their kitchen. Looking at his husband holding the small bundle, now wrapped in his jumper, he breathed outwardly deeply. Concern etched his lovely face. He was running his finger over her tiny face from brow to chin slowly. Tears brimming. Holy Mother. His husband's heart was breaking.
"Hamish?" The name hitched with emotion. "Is she, our little soul? Does she live?"
"Shhh Sherlock, yes. For now." Opening his arm welcoming him. Sherlock was there in an instant pressing himself to his beloved's side. "We need to get her there, check her more thoroughly, get some sustenance in her." He was worried for his husband, he had never seen him this way before. Tortured, but quietly holding in the raging storm. He could feel it, tugging at his heart. Try to get him talking. "Lover, where did you find her?"
"In a rubbish bin…I though at first a kitten; but no, instead this little one." It broke Sherlock's heart. "Some one had placed her there, deep within the papers. Left her Hamish. Didn't surrender her, was going to let her be extinguished." Lifting his hand, he stroked the tiny forehead bereft of hair. "She doesn't have long does she?"
"I don't know lover, we just have to see. She is weak. We can lend her a bit of strength, yea?"
That very moment the other two Holmes' men came barreling up to the flat expecting mayhem, instead they were greeted with waves of care and depth of sadness. It stopped their questions immediately. Just to see the two with a tiny child was enough to not ask questions, just react, to do what was necessary. But it was such heartbreakingly loving moment, Gregory wished he could etch it in time.
"Who?
John answered, "We don't know. Foundling. Sherlock. Rubbish bin. Buried. We need to get her to Bart's. She's weak, but I think she will be stable."
"She?"
Sherlock snapped, "Yes, SHE. Not it." Protective, hovering beside John, "Hamish can we go with her now? Please? Our brother's are here…"
"Yes. Mycroft, while she is getting tests done we need to speak, yea?"
"Anything, John."
Later, in the lab, Molly kept Sherlock company. "Are you going to find her a home?" She asked attentively, "She is very tiny. Like a fairy child."
"John believes she might be a bit premature." Leaning against the counter he kept his focus on the tips of his shoes. "Molly, do you think we could be a good home?"
"Well, I…" she begins to speak, but Sherlock interrupts. He does not mean to be rude, his thoughts are so loud at this moment he can't hear anything else.
"Hamish is so solid. Loving. Kind. Doesn't that type of man deserve to be a father?"
"What about one who is brilliant, truthful, and loyal? Who wears his heart on his sleeve for no one to notice?" Molly asked.
"Who would that be?" He asked, half-teasing their friend. "Thank you, Molly. Never say that out loud again." It's the first time he has smiled since he found the child.
"Lestrade found nothing. There are no newborns being missed apparently. Which, is a good thing for the parent who kept their children. We have safe surrender for a reason…"
"Well she with us now My. She is safe. We want her kept. If she lives, could you put the paperwork together?" Sherlock would agree, he had no doubt. Just seeing him with her earlier had caused a deep ache of a different sort. He saw the mirror of it in his husband in the car. They would have her kept.
"If you and Sherlock agree, yes. Mummy would be so happy to have a little thing running about…" Mycroft mused, a very tiny quip of a smile on his lips. "Lestrade and I are discussing. This might have cemented it."
"Well if there is any place a child would be loved it is in this family. Have all of it drawn up. As Sherlock once said to me, we shall tie her to us in every way possible. Our little soul, vérité. "
Three months later, they celebrated a Christening at the manor.
"We thank you, almighty God, for the gift of water
To sustain, refresh and cleanse all life…"
John held her, Sherlock immediately behind him, supporting his arm, touching her as well. His other hand on John's shoulder.
"Over water the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of Creation…"
His husband, so enthralled with their child. They share a sweet look as the water drips off her head.
"In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share his resurrection and are reborn…"
John's eyes glitter with hope and promise. Sherlock overjoyed for them both.
"What is to be the child's name?"
Together they answer, "Caitrin Verity Holmes…"
Author's Notes:
I woke up listening to
The Girl by Ryuchi Satamoto.
It tears my heart out every time...