"John," Sherlock said bounding down the stairs to 221 C, "I need you."

"Sit," John commanded, pointing to a chair in the kitchen, "Mary has just stepped out for some milk. What seems to be the trouble?" John picked up his tea and prepared for the tirade that was to come.

"WHAT-John what do you think the trouble is?!" Sherlock said, standing from the chair. He began pacing back and forth in John's small kitchen. Sherlock began wringing his hands through his hair, "...not ready to be a father..." he murmured as he continued pacing back and forth. He continued murmuring, sometimes yelling, and at the point he began pounding his fists on the wall John intervened.

"Sherlock..." he said. Sherlock ignored him and continued pounding the abused wall. "Sherlock!" John repeated, this time in a firm tone. Sherlock stopped pounding long enough to look at John, it was then that he realized what he was doing to the poor wall.

"Sorry John..." he murmured. Sherlock sat in the chair John offered him with a sigh of defeat. "I can't do it John," Sherlock began, "Not now. With Moriarty back... I'm so busy keeping Mary and you and Mrs. Hudson, heck even my brother out of trouble, now I have someone else to worry about."

John chuckled thoughtfully and stood up walking over towards Sherlock, "Sherlock, Katie reminds me very much so of yourself, and considering the fact that it's normally me keeping you out of trouble, naturally I would be the one keeping your 'mini-me' out of trouble. You don't have to do this alone Sherlock," he assured him, putting a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Now drink your tea," he finished his speech with.

"Feeling better?" John asked minutes later. Sherlock nodded with a sigh, "I guess the 'game' will have to take a recess-"

"Yes," John interrupted, "because right now you are going to go talk to your daughter.

-Two Months Later-

Sherlock and his daughter became better acquainted and to the surprise of both parties they found they actually enjoyed each others company. To John and Mary's surprise the daughter they thought they were having was a boy. "Like I said," Sherlock told John. Sherlock knew it was going to be a boy-child they brought into the world but again no one listened to him. Even his daughter agreed with his hypothesis, much to Sherlock's pleasure. John and Mary named the boy Hamilton Sherlock Watson, and they named Sherlock as his godfather. He turned out looking like neither his mother or his father. He had bright blue eyes and vibrant ginger hair, though he wasn't as pale as his namesake and godfather.

Moriarty hadn't been heard from much and all of Scotland Yard was furiously trying to look for him in any place imaginable. Sherlock even had his homeless network on full alert, but to no avail. There had been a couple bombs and seemingly random shootings, but none of them could be traced back to Moriarty. The man was "gone", or so it seemed.

"I've got it Dad," Katie said firmly, "I think I can watch a baby for a couple hours without getting into too much trouble."

Sherlock sighed, "I know Katie, but-""If there are any problems I will call Uncle Mycroft and then you. I know where the fire escape is and I know the location of John's gun and all of your chemicals in the house. If anyone breaks in they will have hell to pay," Katie finished with a smirk.

"Alright, just be careful," Sherlock repeated. He didn't try hugging Katie and saying goodbye, he didn't think they were ready for that just yet. Katie had just graduated to the next stage in their relationship as she had just begun calling him Dad. 'The first time she did so he stopped what he was doing and stared at her for five minutes straight...' Katie remembered. Sherlock grabbed his coat and left Katie and the Watson's new son, Hamilton, on their own. John and Mary went out to see a movie and left Hamilton with Sherlock and Katie. Sherlock was then called out by DI Lestrade who had a fresh murder about 10 miles away.

"Well Hamilton," Katie began, stroking his soft ginger curls, "I guess it's just you and me. Are you hungry?" she asked, knowing full well she wouldn't get an answer. Hamilton simply gurgled and looked up at her from the playpen Sherlock had set up in his flat. Sherlock thought it would be a convenience to have said playpen, he could watch the kid from the kitchen, and keep working on his experiments. Although Katie was beginning to think he regretted the efficient decision as he hit his feet on it every time he left his room at night. She could hear his subtle swearing from her room above. John's old room proved quite comfortable and it provided enough room for pacing and enough wall space for target practice. She didn't only inherit her father's skill in deduction, but she also inherited his sleeping and eating habits as well as his disdain for boredom and John found out about these facts when he returned from work to find his gun missing and several shells on Katie's bedroom floor.

"I'll make your bottle then," Katie began, coming out of her mind palace and focusing on the matters at hand. Baby Hamilton.

"And please," she said, turning back from the kitchen, "wait to go to the bathroom and do it when your parents come home, yes?"

Hamilton simply pointed to her and laughed and she stuck her tongue out in return. Katie went to the kitchen and began filling a pot with water for the boy's bottle when she heard the front door open. She knew her father, John, or Mary would have called out first, deduction: someone else was in the flat. She quietly picked up Hamilton, grabbed his pacifier and her cellphone, and ran into her father's bedroom. She could hear whoever it was coming up the stairs to the flat. He began rummaging around the flat as though he was looking for something or someone. She quickly hid Hamilton in Sherlock's closet, throwing a few blankets in with him to hopefully keep him hidden and she started to survey her options. Because of her location her choice of weaponry was practically nonexistent. Sherlock didn't keep any chemicals in his room and John's gun was downstairs in his flat. She was about to go for a large metal flashlight when she noticed something shiny under Sherlock's bed. Immediately she reached out and grabbed it.

'An Arab sword?' she thought to herself. 'Better than nothing', she mentally concluded.

At the moment it seemed she had two options. The first option was to wait in Sherlock's closet, hope the man didn't find them, and if he did she would try to defend the both of them, and the second was for Katie to take the sword, go out and face the intruder and hope he didn't know the presence of the baby. She decided on the second option.

She grabbed her cellphone and texted Mycroft quietly, as well as her father on the current situation they were in.

She slid the phone into the pile of blankets with baby Hamilton and grabbed the ancient looking sword. She could hear the man going up to her room and once she had determined it was safe to go into the living area of 221B she hid behind the curtain by the main window. Her breathing slowed and deepened as she heard the man coming back down the stairs. Katie peeked out from behind the curtain long enough to make sure the man's back was to her and she sprang out holding the sword level with her shoulder.

Sherlock was busy looking over the crime scene Lestrade had presented him with when he heard his cellphone notify him of a text. He ignored it at first but his curiosity got the better of him.

'INTRUDER AT 221B! REQUEST BACKUP! HAMILTON IN YOUR BEDROOM CLOSET!'

"LESTRADE!" Sherlock yelled putting his phone back in his coat pocket, "Lestrade, there is an intruder at 221B I need men there now!"

Sherlock hopped in the driving seat of Lestrade's car and Lestrade barely managed to get in before Sherlock took off down the street.

Sherlock's phone beeped yet again and he took it out of his pocket long enough to glance at it.

The text was from Mycroft, it read simply, 'WE'RE ON OUR WAY.'

The man proved to be bigger and stronger than Katie thought. He hadn't brought a gun with him, rather it was a large, lengthy knife - a machete. It was as long as her sword and much wider. They struggled, taking swings at each other. Katie accidentally cut a lamp in half in the process. He swerved and forced his machete towards her head, which she ducked with ease.

"Who do you work for?!" she screamed.

"Who do you think?" he yelled back.

"Moriarty?!" she half-screamed as a fact and half-questioned in response.

She swung at his midsection, missed, and he recoiled with his machete - bringing it down into her arm, just missing her shoulder. She hissed as he pulled it out, falling back into John's old chair. He stepped back for a moment before raising his machete, obviously planning to finish her off. Suddenly a car horn could be heard from below them, outside.

She was out of the chair and behind the attacker before he could bring the machete halfway to the chair. He stopped right before he hit the chair and swung around in time to see Katie thrust her sword into his midsection, twist it, and pull it out. She completely missed the look of shock on his face as she turned to inspect her shoulder. 'Blood,' she thought, 'lots of blood. Must have hit a vein-artery- whatever they were called.' She was beginning to feel dizzy, whether it was the blood loss or the fact she could feel warm, sticky blood dripping down her arm onto her fingers she wasn't sure. She could hear someone running up the stairs and she tried to walk towards the door of the flat. "Katie!" he screamed, rounding the final flight of stairs.

"Oh, hey Dad," was all she could manage to say before collapsing into her Father's waiting arms.

"Lestrade-" Sherlock began.

"Emergency services are on their way Sherlock," Lestrade cut in, out of breath, and a few steps slower than Sherlock. "Oh, my God!" Lestrade exclaimed as he entered 221 B. The flat was in total disrepair. Couch cushions were sliced, feathers everywhere, lamps broken, and there was a bleeding dead man in the center of Sherlock's living room.

"Katie," Sherlock coaxed the girl laying in his arms, "Look at me." Sherlock felt her forehead, "...cold..." he muttered before checking her pulse. "Her pulse is too slow," Sherlock concluded. Lestrade ran into Sherlock's room to grab a blanket to keep Katie warm when he heard something moving in Sherlock's closet.

Lestrade walked back in, "I found Hamilton in your closet," Lestrade began, holding a baby in one arm and a blanket in the other, "here," He concluded, handing Sherlock the blanket. Sherlock had begun putting pressure on the wound and he wrapped Katie in the blanket, still trying to wake her but to no avail. They could hear the sound of sirens below them and people rushing in from all directions. A helicopter could be heard above them as well, "Mycroft," Sherlock muttered.

Emergency services began to pile up the stairs to the flat. One serviceman began to take Katie from her father's protective arms much to Sherlock's dismay.

"It's alright Sherlock," Lestrade said, "she'll be fine, they've got her now." Lestrade guided the distraught detective down the stairs, baby in arm, behind Katie who was on a gurney and into the back of the ambulance.