Sherlock scooped the new-born child into his arms and cradled her against his chest. The baby still had half of its umbilical cord attached and was crying softly, shivering, nuzzling into the detectives shirt for warmth. She looked as though she were only a few hours old when Sherlock had found her on the doorstep. Her mother was nowhere to be seen and all that was left to explain why the child was there was a single sticky backed note.
"Yours." It said. "Name it what you wish."
Sherlock recognised that hand writing instantly. Natasha. He'd remembered briefly of that night that had slept together. Nothing had come of it. Sherlock was curious as to why human's experienced sexual desire. The test results were inconclusive, he had consumed alcohol in preparation but found that his senses were too clouded to remember what else had happened. However he had known Natasha had gotten pregnant and the experiment was never repeated. He had sworn that he would be a part of the child's life.
Nine months with no contact had gone by quickly. No contact from the mother. Sherlock began to think that she had terminated the pregnancy, carried on with her studies, forgetting anything had ever happened.
What he did not expect was to find the child abandoned on the doorstep to his family home. Nobody but Sherlock was in the house so whoever had put her there must have waited until he was alone. The mother was nowhere to be found. At nineteen years old Sherlock was not fit to be a father. When He saw the child he brought it into his home immediately, grabbing any sort of blanket he could and clamping the chord with a clothes pin, running warm water in the sink with intention of bathing her.
He was considering giving the child up, giving it a good home with a normal father who would show her affection and teach her the ways of life. The things he was inexperienced in.
He almost agreed to do it. But his feelings betrayed him. The baby gurgled and cooed and smiled. She giggled and grasped firmly onto Sherlock's pinky finger. Her tiny hand refusing to let go. Her eyes widened, her smiled broadened and gazed lovingly into her father's eyes. Then she brought the finger into her mouth and sucked on it gently. There were no tears, just happiness. Sherlock felt something he had never really experienced before. Love. Was it love? Could somebody love something that quickly? This child was a part of him, she was different than the others who had tried to be close to him. He gulped and tried to speak.
"So you are my daughter then." He began. "You are beautiful."
A name. Of course he had to think of a name to call the girl.
"Julia.." He whispered and she seemed to like that name very much, smiling widely and attempting to kick her little legs.
"Yes, I shall call you Julia."
His parents were in Glasgow for the weekend so he would speak to Mycroft that afternoon.
I've had this idea floating about in my head for a little while now and wanted to make it reality. If you don't like it, don't read but I do appreciate reviews. ^.^