Hey guys!

so, i wrote this fic after reading psycofan's Family Trial as a sort of prequel. You might appreciate it slightly better if you read that first (you can find it in my favourite stories on my profile), but you can read this as a stand-alone fic too (though some parts might not make complete sense or seem necessary). any way, i hope you enjoy it!

On another note, I'm looking for betas, so anyone who is interested, please, feel free to PM me!

thanks!

Ps: i wrote this fic while listening to coldplay's Sky full of Stars. its a really great song!

Mycroft sighed for the hundredth time as he paced outside the operation theatre in the small clinic. He couldn't believe that he had been so careless. One night of careless sex, and here he was nine months later pacing the hallway in a private clinic awaiting the birth of his child.

His child, dear god, what was he getting himself into? He should just walk away while he still had a chance, let the child's mother take care of it. But the minute Mycroft thought about the mother, his mind protested against leaving the kid with its mother. All said and done, the child was a Holmes and left to its mother, would probably end up in a dingy orphanage somewhere. Mycroft's resolve strengthened. He would never allow his child to be subjected to such conditions.

He wondered if he would have a son or a daughter. A son he could train to take after him, but oh god, to be the father of a daughter. A daughter who would smile and light up any room she was in, Mycroft blinked as he suddenly realised that he very much wanted to be the father of a daughter.

That didn't mean that the thought of being a father didn't terrify him.

"Mr. Holmes?" a nurse's voice called out to him.

Looking at her, Mycroft saw that she held a bundle in her arms. He swallowed, it looked he'd find out whether he was lucky enough to be the father of a daughter.

"Mr. Holmes, I would like to introduce you to your daughter," she smiled handing him the sleeping baby in her arms.

A daughter, the thought filled his stomach with butterflies. He had a daughter. Looking down at the tiny little human being in his arms Mycroft immediately saw that she had the Holmes bone structure and had Sherlock's dark curly hair. 'Good, that would keep questions and speculations about the mother at a minimum.' Nodding his thanks to the nurse, he was about to go back home when she told him timidly.

"I'm sorry to say, that her mother didn't survive childbirth."

Mycroft blinked, he hadn't been particularly fond of the child's mother, but he had counted on her help for the first few months. Oh well, one couldn't have everything in life.

Nodding his understanding, he was once again about to leave when the nurse asked him, "what's her name sir? For the birth certificate." She clarified.

Looking down at the sleeping baby in his arms, Mycroft said softly, "Rayleigh, her name's Rayleigh Elizabeth Holmes." And with that he walked out and into his jaguar, confident that Anthea would take care of the rest of the paper work. After all, he had a baby to look after.

Reaching his home, Mycroft walked into his seven bedroom penthouse with Rayleigh still in his arms. He was taking this surprisingly well, he thought to himself privately, but then again the shock hadn't set in yet.

Walking up to the bedroom adjacent to his, Mycroft opened the door after carefully balancing Rayleigh, to reveal a splendid nursery. The room had everything that Rayleigh could possibly need for the next few years. Putting her into her brand new, oak-wood crib, Mycroft stepped back and observed his daughter properly.

She was tiny, that was the first thought that registered in his mind. Her entire body's length was less than the distance between the tip of his middle finger and his elbow. She wasn't very pink though, not like all the manuals he had read had described newborns. He frowned, was there something wrong? But then he realised it was probably genetics. Both Mycroft and Rayleigh's mother were very pale, it was only natural that she would be too. Leaning closer to observe her, Mycroft absentmindedly catalogued her features. She had his nose and jaw, her cheekbones and hair resembled Sherlock, the arch of her ear reminded him of his mother's ears, she had small, rosebud pink lips and she smelt of disinfectant. His lips pursed together when he realised that the cause for the last and, quite frankly, disturbing observation was because she had yet to be changed from the white blankets she had been swathed in at the clinic. Looking around for something, to dress her in, Mycroft found a baby pink onesie.

Swallowing as he realised he would have to change her, he took a deep breath and moved to remove her blankets. Suddenly, he froze as he realised that she had woken up when she started moving and opened her eyes. Standing very still to ensure that she didn't start crying, Mycroft inhaled sharply when her eyes locked onto his.

They were his eyes. This little child that he hadn't even known about until last week had his sapphire blue eyes. But they were filled with an innocence that Mycroft had never seen in his. And then she smiled. It wasn't the most meaningful of smiles perhaps, but its intent was clear. She didn't wail, she didn't cry; with her eyes looking at him in wonder, this child, his daughter had smiled. His throat closed up as he realised that he was the first person she had smiled at, and now, he watched mesmerised as she reached a tiny little hand out to him. Unconsciously, he picked her up, cradling her in the crook of his shoulder. Her smile widened and she gurgled at him, and Mycroft couldn't stop the soft smile that crept onto his face.

In that moment, Mycroft knew he was doomed. Suddenly, with an amazing clarity, he knew that he would do whatever it took to ensure that that air of innocence around her was preserved and to ensure that she kept smiling at him like that. He would brave the ninth circle of hell, lie, murder, cheat, destroy nations, and even, if need be, defy death, just to ensure that she would be as safe, happy and protected for the rest of her life, as she was right now, cradled in his arms.

He felt a wave of emotions crash over him as he came to this realisation – love, protectiveness, joy; and he knew, without a doubt she had completely wrapped him around her tiny little finger after he had barely known her for an hour!

"Hello Rayleigh, I am Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft said softly, sighing when her little eyes blinked at him in confusion, "I am your papa." He said, and felt a slight frisson go through him when he finally admitted it.

Because that's who he was.

Her papa.