ISLA

The great Sherlock Holmes, a father? Who could've predicted that? In all the time I have spent with my bastard of a best friend, I remained unaware of his capacity to pro-create. I'd presumed him inhuman... seemingly, Holmes is not as inhuman as previously thought.
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The story focuses on aspects of the book and TV series (Which lets be honest are fabulous!!) in this timeline, Mary is dead (... for now ;) ) however John's daughter never came into existence.

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1. Chapter - J

The doorbell stirs me from sleep and then the door being opened and a group of footsteps with muffled voices on the stairs force me to retrieve the gun I keep under my pillow; after throwing back the duvet covers, I make my way to the landing avoiding the creaky floorboard above the top step. I follow down the staircase, aware that our unannounced guests are in the living room: SHERLOCK! Moving faster, arms extended and gun in hand, I reach the living room quicker than anticipated, and am greeted with a familiar scenario.

“I don’t care!” Sherlock hisses at the shadowy figure of Mycroft.

“Sherlock Holmes! You will do what is expected of you!”

“Will not.” He sulks, pulling the forlorn expression of a child who has been denied the pleasure of a sweet. I tuck the now unloaded gun into the back of my trousers, before advancing once again onto the battle ground. Sherlock glares at me upon entrance, clearly believing me to be someone else and as he realizes who I am stands and throws a jumper at me.

“Cover up, we have guests.” He says with his wonderfully sarcastic tone gesturing to the bustling room, as police officers come and go; he strides towards me as I pull the jumper over my head, and leans down patronizingly adding “You might want to hide that.”

Knowing he is referring to the gun, I grin and pull the jumper down over it.

“To what do we owe the pleasure Mycroft?”

Sherlock snorts at the word pleasure and puts a cigarette between his lips and attempts to light it as Mycroft swipes it from his mouth and replaces it back in the box.

“You’ve quit,” he says smugly, smirking at his younger brother and nodding to the last police officer as he closed the door behind him “In reference to your earlier question John, there has been a development in the story of a Miss Irene Adler, a development in which my brother played a part and must deal with the repercussions - shall we?” Mycroft sits in Sherlock’s chair, a deliberate attempt to make sure the younger of the Holmes brothers know his place.

“She is asleep, and while we were in there we found this anything to add Sherlock?” Asks the annoyed voice of Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.

“Why are you still here?” I ask squinting at the small plastic bag that Greg was holding, then the realization sets in, I turn to Sherlock who is crouched in the window sill staring out the window with the now lit cigarette in his mouth mumbling to himself and tapping his fingers on the freezing glass, trying everything to block our now full flat. Turning back to Lestrade with the realization of his words, I watch Mycroft bury his head in his hands understanding the severity of Sherlock’s situation.

“You said she?! Who else is here?”

Lestrade glances at Mycroft, who has regained his composure and nods in response, then stands and motions for us all to sit. Lestrade’s eyes lock with mine, a comforting expression that I am not the only one unsure of what was going on.

“Sherlock? We will discuss later Lestrade’s discovery. If he be so kind as to give it to me?” Reluctantly, Lestrade hands the small packet over to Mycroft’s open palm. “Thank you.” He says genuinely grateful.

Then Mycroft snaps.

“SHERLOCK HOLMES!”

The lost Sherlock sighs and stubs out the cigarette, it is only now I notice that he has dropped almost a stone in weight despite me ensuring that he was eating at least one big meal a day… I can almost see his ribs poking from underneath his pale skin, upon catching me staring, he wraps his dressing gown tighter around him, then slouches into his chair, and drums his fingers on the arm of his chair, brushing his bare feet against one another as if he were anxious.

“The girl in question is the daughter of Miss Adler, and is currently asleep in my brother’s room.” Mycroft begins, I watch Sherlock’s reaction and it appears as to him that it is old news. “She is an extraordinary being, and very dangerous, in a number of ways, because of her heritage, her upbringing and mentors… the list is endless. She needs to be protected, and kept away from the people who would abuse her and to prevent from losing her to those whom she would wrongly be led to trust.”

There is a still quiet that settles over the room and it feels as though the dust has stopped moving even Sherlock is sat completely still, unmoving and in those few seconds that ticked, a variety of emotions crossed Sherlock’s blue eyes, and if it weren’t for those emotions it would have appeared that he was a statue as unhuman as his personality and attitude towards most things normal, fingers begin to drum on the leather chair arm again and the pace of sleeping London picks back up.

“What trouble are we facing?” Lestrade asks.

“Her mentors are probably the main issues, they will both want her back, and both are incredibly dangerous and unfortunately what makes it worse is that they are the remaining people from her past life – people who she has been raised with and the people she ultimately trusts. If they get their hands on her, it will be devastating. A less concerning problem is her history, she has fought to survive so far and has a record of stealing and violence, which of course needs to be monitored.”

A million questions are running through my head and I can see the same ones running though Lestrade’s, Sherlock is clearly curious but has not moved his position since sitting down, I’m fairly certain he isn’t breathing.

There is movement in the bedroom, Sherlock’s head Jerks toward the unknown sounds of a sleeping child, and clearly he isn’t comfortable with anyone being in his room. He digs his nails into the chair as the sounds get louder and is clearly fighting with the urge to press his hands to his ears, or leave.

The sounds stop and Sherlock relaxes.

“I can set up, a profile of her mentors on the police database and then any officer on duty or not will be forced to react to their presence.”

“Thank You for your input but one is already under that warning and the other is no problem for myself and my brother.” Mycroft states.

The sounds begin again, but almost as quickly stop.

“Does she have a name?” I ask.

“She does, but what it is I am not entirely sure, the circumstances of her retrieval were not the most conventional and there was no time to stand on ceremony I’m afraid.”

“Why is she staying here? Wouldn’t she be safer with you? Where the hell does Irene Adler fit into all of this? It’s her child!” My voice and rage growing as Sherlock’s head bowed lower and lower, Lestrade kicked my ankle and nudged his head  toward the door reminding me that it is 5 a.m. and Mrs. Hudson would be fast asleep and did not need waking at this hour.

“She would be no safer with me, and Miss Adler is dead… for definite this time – the girl was forced to witness this.”

I waited for the rest of the answer but it didn’t come; this only made me more curious, then I saw Sherlock’s face and it didn’t match he was small and hurting - human - a child who had just watched their mother die. Lestrade was focused on Mycroft and didn’t witness the struggle Sherlock was fighting between himself and his emotions which he hated.

“So why is she staying here?” Lestrade asks.

“Sherlock.” Sherlock has regained himself and appeared to be back to his common non-human exterior as Mycroft directed the attention to him. Calmly he pulled himself so he was sitting up straight instead of slouching back into his chair, as he sat there, you could see his emotions wrestling inside him to be free and shown

“She has to stay because…” He began to fidget and fiddle with his thumbs. “Because she is mine…”

That stunned me… genuinely did not see that coming! Greg falls back into his chair and rubs his eyes with his fists, as shocked as I am.

“Do you mean to say that you and Irene Adler..?”

Sherlock looked away as if he were ashamed and refused to meet anyone’s eyes or shocked expressions he proceeded to stand, grab his coat, throw it on then stormed out, I saw the tears.

“He’ll be back. Soon enough. Good Evening John.” Mycroft nods and exits swiftly.

“Good luck mate. Give us a call if you need anything.” Lestrade shakes my hand firmly, the uncertainty in his voice rings clearly in my ears.

“I’m not going to call you for help Greg.” He sighs in relief. “Out of curiosity, why did Mycroft call on you?”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks at his shoes, all before taking a deep breath and: “Mycroft suspected for a while that Junior was back on the err hard stuff but didn’t know for sure, I was called into to confirm his suspicions and/or find out why. The girl… that was news to me as well.”

With that punches my arm and leaves.

I turn the kettle on to make tea… not much point in going back to bed for 2 hours only to get up again, I walk upstairs change into my clothes and replace my gun under the pillow.

I watch the seconds tick by with my tea in one hand and my book in the other.

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