Chapter Seven

John stepped into the longue five days later and was faced with Maeve, awake and kicking sat in a chair that was a beanbag with a strap to secure her to it. She was dressed in only a bodysuit with no sleeves or legs, red coloured skin on display as she stretched and jerked her limbs.

"Hello." The ex-army doctor greeted, kneeling down beside the baby so she could get a better look at him. Maeve gurgled and opened her mouth, giving the doctor a good look at her gums. He offered her his finger, which she took, grabbing on and pulling slightly in jumpy movements. "Where is your Daddy?"

"John" a voice called out from the kitchen. Well, that answered that question. The consulting detective poked his head around the corner to look at him, black curls sleep mussed and missing his pyjama top.

"Everything ok?" John asked, trying and failing to keep the amused grin from his face.

"Fine." Sherlock answered, stepping into the room. The moment he was close enough Maeve started moving erratically, blue eyes bright and gurgling with more enthusiasm. Sherlock bowed down slightly, lowering himself to her level and smiled at her, running a hand over her head, smoothing her thin dark hair with great care. "I need you to watch Maeve."

"Ok." John said immediately, not taking his eyes off the infant.

"I need to shower." Sherlock offered in explanation. "And to visit my parents."

John's head jerked up immediately to look at the consulting detective. "Your parents?"

"Mycroft insists that I talk to them."

"You don't want to take her with you?"

"And subject her to my parents, no."

"Won't they want to meet her?"

"There is no doubt. But I do not wish to overwhelm Maeve at this stage and this will be a tedious enough conversation without them fawning all over her."

"I'm confused."

"Don't be." Sherlock insisted. Maeve gurgled. "She is fed and changed, but needs new clothes. I will say farewell before I leave."

Sherlock rose to his feet. John followed, unlinked his finger from Maeve's grip and feeling guilty when she released a whine. "Sherlock, I thought the whole point of this was to introduce Maeve to your parents."

"It's difficult John." Sherlock tried. "My parents are…particular people, they do not approve of me and my various lifestyle choices, a child out of wedlock and out of love will not be taken lightly. The whole conversation will be a dreadfully boring lecture to me."

"Well, we'll be fine." John told Sherlock.

"Don't be stupid John, of course you will." Sherlock announced as he left the room.

A moment later the bathroom door slammed shut, Maeve's eyes widened slightly and John sat on the floor beside her. He wordlessly handed over his finger to her, she gripped it again and placed it into her mouth before John could argue. "That's lovely that is." John told her, voice forgiving. Maeve suckled on his finger, drool dripping down the digit and her chin as she began gnawing with her gums. "You're too cute for your own good."


Sherlock returned. He was dressed in a black suit with a dark forest green shirt, buttons undone at the top in his usual fashion. His coat was hooked over his arm along with his scarf, ready to put on as he stepped into the longue. Maeve was lain on John's lap, her head between his knees. She was still as he played with finger puppets, allowing her to touch them and even taste one.

"You leaving?"? John looked up at him.

"Yes." The consulting detective answered, nodding and crossing the room in a flash. He crouched down and kissed his daughters forehead. She startled but didn't cry, eyes focusing on her father's eyebrows as he brushed a large hand over her hair, inhaling her scent. "I won't be long." His eyes flicked up to meet John's for a moment before moving back to his daughter.

Sherlock stood up and left the room, looking back at his daughter and the ex-army doctor before leaving.


Siger Holmes heard the sound of the front door closing. Violet was in the kitchen and it was too early for Mycroft to visit, his elder son would be far too busy. He rose to his feet, shutting his book and leaving it on the table. He turned the corner and was surprised to see his youngest son, Sherlock, sneaking in like teenager. The older man was surprised at how little his son had changed in the two year gap between visits.

Sherlock's hair was longer, dark and curling around his pale face. He looked thinner, if that were possible, like a gust of wind would knock him over. He was wearing the coat Mycroft had given him after leaving rehab the last time, scarf loose around his neck and wearing a crisp suit. His eyes were hard and face indifferent, Siger could recognise some discomfort in his expression.

"Sherlock" He exhaled, surprised by the sudden appearance. Sherlock huffed a breath, not bothering to answer as his stormy eyes flicked over his father. His dark grey hair was neat, dressed in a pair of smart black trousers, white shirt and a fitted grey jumper. Siger folded his arms over his chest, already losing patience as he kept his silver eyes fixed on his son. He asked, sternly. "What are you doing here Sherlock?"

"Anyone would think you didn't want to see me." Sherlock hissed.

He sidestepped his father. Siger rolled his eyes but followed his son as he marched through the house and into the kitchen. Violet's face lit up at the sight of him, blue eyes warming. She was wearing a pair of jeans with a crisp white shirt tucked in, something casual. Her grey hair was pulled back elegantly, like it always was. Sherlock placed himself on the other side of the counter, leaving a barrier between them. His hands were in his pocket and eyes flicking around, trying to avoid looking at his parents for too long as he remained distant. Siger could have sworn his son looked nervous, something he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Mycroft has been pestering me to tell you something."

"You've relapsed" His father guessed, not a question, a statement.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he snapped. "No."

Siger did not look convinced, he placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "What is it?" Violet asked, changing the subject swiftly with a wary smile.

Sherlock ignored her. His eyes unforgiving as he focused on his father. "I am clean."

"For how long this time?" Siger asked.

Sherlock clenched his jaw, abandoning tact and blurting out. "I impregnated someone."

There was silence. Siger could only blink in response. Violet managed to mutter in disbelief. "You got somebody pregnant."

"Yes, we met in a bar and fucked in an alleyway."

Violet looked up at her husband, not bothering to scold her son for his obscene language. Siger was having trouble processing the information, his eyes wide and not able to communicate anything at this present moment. His mother said, understanding. "And you're sure that she's pregnant?"

"Unequivocal."

"How far along is she?"

"The 2nd of March."

"The 2nd of March?" His mother repeated.

"The day she was admitted into hospital and gave birth."

His mother was stunned to silence and Siger squeezed his wife's shoulder. His thoughts were all over the place but he found his voice. "She's had the baby?"

"The proof was left on my doorstep two days later, DNA testing proves she is mine, if there was any doubt."

"She?" His father picked up immediately. "And what do you mean 'if there was any doubt'?"

"It's been brought to my attention how much she resembles me."

"The poor thing." His mother exclaimed, hand resting on her heart.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, confused. "What?"

"She must be so scared."

"Scared?" Sherlock repeated, completely bewildered.

"She was abandoned." His father snapped.

"I am quite aware."

"Stop being so selfish Sherlock. This is a baby we're talking about, a new-born baby that has been abandoned. A little girl that is completely alone in the world."

"Alone?"

"Where is she?" Violet chipped in, turning to look at her husband. "We have to find her. We can take her in."

"What?" Sherlock was lost.

Siger provided, grey eyes hard. "We can't allow her to live in care, she is a Holmes. That might not mean something to you but it does to us, if you won't care for her, then we will."

Sherlock stared at his father for a moment, then moved on to his mother. "I knew this would never work." He muttered more to himself before storming out.

Violet called after him desperate for information. She was met only with silence and the slamming of the front door. Sherlock was not coming back. They needed to speak to Mycroft, he'd be more helpful than his younger brother. He'd know what to do.


The door slammed. John looked towards the stairway. Sherlock was back then.

He'd just finished feeding Maeve, she was against his chest with her head on his shoulder as he rubbed her back lightly. They'd been like this for the past five minutes. It had been a while since he had looked after a baby but it was similar to riding a bike, you never really forgot. They'd played with puppets for a bit before she had a nap and he read to her when she woke, fed her and changed her.

The consulting detective climbed the stairs with his usual fast pace, taking two at a time and pausing only for a moment in the entryway before coming into the room. He remained silent as he shed his coat and scarf, hanging them over the door.

"Has she been ok?" Sherlock asked, not looking at his friend and voice strained.

"Fine." John answered, removing her from his shoulder after a particularly nasty burp.

"Good." Turning gracefully, he lifted up Maeve as John offered her to him. He instinctively brought her close, inhaling against her hair like he had done earlier. The scent was reassuring.

"How did it go with your parents?"

"They accused me of being on drugs and proceeded to prove me right."

"What? How?"

"They were disappointed and think I'm selfish, they want to take Maeve in and raise her because 'Holmes' stick together'."

"But you have custody." John deadpanned.

"They do not know that."

"You didn't tell them."

"They didn't give me a chance." Sherlock argued.

"Like that's ever stopped you before."

"My parents and I do not get along John. We never have. They believe that I am spoilt and am wasting my life away, they do not indulge me anything John. It may be my own fault but we never got on, I'm not perfect enough for them."

"Sherlock..." John trailed off.

"My mother is caring and compassionate, she sees past all my faults. She is kind, trusting and loving. This is everything that I grew to hate as I grew up, my mind worked too fast, it was too much from an early age and my attention span…well, I like things to be fast and explored. My father strict, firm and short-tempered, we have never seen eye to eye. They care deeply about reputation. This made our relationship worsen when I began on my…downward spiral."

"They'll find out at some point." John reminded him. He didn't seem angry or judgemental, just a warming presence.

"That's exactly what Mycroft is for." Sherlock responded. He shifted, holding Maeve away from his body at a small distance, holding her head in one hand and tiny body in the other. He smiled at her as she gurgled, blue eyes flicking over his hairline and eyebrows.

"Do you expect him to fall for that?"

"I'm not going to tell him."

"And I suppose I'm not going to either."

"If it isn't too much trouble."

"Fine but this will come back to bite you."

"Oh, I'm quite positive that you are right." Sherlock responded simply, smile still firmly in place as he watched his daughter.

"Lunch?"

"Starving."

"Mrs Hudson brought up some steak sandwiches."

"And chips?" The dark haired man asked, eyes widening and voice sounding like a child.

"Yes." John sighed. He pushed himself up from the sofa and went into the kitchen.

"When did she wake up?" Sherlock called in after him, still observing his daughter for every single detail. He then pulled her back to his chest, cradling her and listening to her gurgles.

"Half an hour ago." John responded.

"Then someone" Sherlock's voice lightened slightly. "Needs to be put down for a sleep."