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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2. Chapter - J

There was the floorboard by the bed that always caught Sherlock out. I glanced at my watch 9a.m. Mrs. Hudson was pottering around downstairs and there was the front door, with footsteps coming up the stairs which sounded remarkably like Sherlock’s. Then it was apparent that the footsteps in the bedroom and the footsteps on the stairs were not the same person, one was my rather peculiar friend and the other was his daughter, thankfully, Sherlock was collared by Mrs. Hudson, which gave me some time to meet the girl and decide who was going to be more problematic, the bedroom door creaked open. I stood and made my way to greet the girl, she stretched like a cat before closing the door. When she stretched I could see her ribs just like I could see Sherlock’s earlier, one similarity already.

She stopped. Her hand dropped to her side. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Morning. I’m,”

In a second the small girl was on my back, her legs around my stomach and arms around my throat, attempting to suffocate me. Like a viper, her grip got tighter and tighter, in 6 rapid heart-beats, it was too late for me to call out for aid, I planted my feet stationary to avoid bumping into or breaking anything, I had to gain some way of communication, in desperation of air and hope that she would understand the gesture, I quickly raised my hands so they were level with my head.

“I surrender.” My gesture hopefully implied… it didn’t.

I can feel her skin against mine, I can’t breathe, and she feels cold, and if she weren’t clinging on so tightly you would think she was dead.

With what feels like my last breath my voice unwillingly calls for Sherlock, upon feeling my knees falter and connect with the floorboards.

“John!?” comes the faint call from downstairs. Followed by hurried footsteps and the opening of the door, I collapse to my stomach and wrap my hands around my neck as the small child climbs to her feet releasing me from her icy hold.

The room comes to a still as I breathe deeply in order to regain the breath that was stolen. I haul myself to my feet, Sherlock is frozen and so is she. The expression on his face is mirrored on hers, they are both deducing as much as they can from the other, I know that look I have seen it many a time. I step back and take in all of the child.

Inevitable dark curly locks of hair frame her face and fall to her waist, her collarbones are prominent and she looks mal-nourished, her pale skin is almost translucent and her eyes are a deep chocolate brown. The clothes she wears are nothing but rags and it occurs to me that we have nothing else to clothe her in. She cocks her head to one side a clockwork movement that startles me slightly and her eyes narrow. The silence grows to be unbearable and is broken by the sound of Mrs. Hudson downstairs.

“Sherlock?”

He doesn’t respond.

“We’re fine Mrs. Hudson, thank you!” I choke in response, but she is already in the doorway staring wide eyed at the daughter of Sherlock Holmes.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you had a client. Why didn’t you say Sherlock? I’ll put the Kettle on.”

“We Don’t Have a Client” His teeth are bared and his voice a low snarl.

“Don’t be so rude Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson smiles and addresses the girl, nodding toward Sherlock. “He isn’t always like this.” She lied.

The child’s eyes flick from Sherlock’s to Mrs. Hudson as she leaves and for a second an emotion plays clearly across the face of the girl: Surprise. Something about Mrs. Hudson has bewildered the child?

The long trench coat swings open and a bare torso is revealed, ribs protruding clearly, something the girl has an advantage over. Sherlock draws his coat shut and stomped into his room slamming the door, there was lots of clattering and crashing followed by shouting and what sounded like smashing things.

“Sit down if you like?” I reach for my laptop, side stepping past her and never taking my eyes off her, just as she moves her eyes to follow me around the small flat. I point at the long black sofa behind her and slowly she moves to sit on it, pulling her legs up and crossing her legs so they were off the floor. Wary of her actions and her malicious nature I make the executive decision to sit at the table where I can at least see her in my peripheral view.

The only sign of her living is the small movement her shoulders make when she breathes and the only slightly noticeable wince as she inhales but after a few deep breathes she has it under control.

“So do you have a name?” I ask. She watches me intently.

After 2 minutes, I still don’t have a reply. She was still watching.

“Different question…” I say she gives no sign of even hearing me. “Can you even speak?”

She still did not move. The awkward silence was quickly snapped in two as my phone vibrated and bleeped at me from the coffee table.

Bring me my violin. SH

“If you want it, get it yourself!” I yell towards the closed door. The child seemed shocked to hear me shouting, and she cowered away slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t angry with you.” I hopelessly tried to communicate with the girl, she stared blankly at me.

Get out here! I am not a babysitter. J

There was movement in the bedroom. Soon enough the door opened, and the now fully clothed Sherlock strode toward the violin and music stand ignoring the child. As he began to play, the child turned her attention toward him, narrowing her eyes. It was only a moment until it was apparent that the child was watching the violin and not her father. It is strange to think of my inhuman best friend as a father. I began to note down this peculiar atmosphere extending between the offspring and parent and decided I should perhaps put it on my blog.

The Mysterious child:

She awoke with much distress and attacked. Holmes was able to intercede although, I am not sure how. There was no exchange of words and there still hasn’t been, she is curious that is all I can gain, once the violin began, her attention was drawn toward it. She can be no older than 6 yet her body gives the impression of at least a 12 year old, whilst her actions and movements would imply someone much older. This is by far the most bewildering case I am sure Holmes has yet to encounter.

I became acutely aware of eyes watching me and as I looked away from my keyboard her attention had been turned to me, she stared directly at me then moved her eyes around the room, resting on the various experiments set up in the kitchen and the notes pinned around the room. As a car horn sounded in the street her head jerked toward the sound, and she found herself staring at the violin again.

She is very curious.

I did not press publish, Mycroft’s warning of the girls mentors wanting her back. This is probably enough information for them to gather her whereabouts and retrieve her. I deleted the post. The violin stopped playing and Sherlock pulled is phone from his pocket placing the violin back in its case. He answered the silently ringing phone.

“What is it now?” He said rudely to the other person.

There was a silence that followed the girl watched as Sherlock walked around the room, I caught eye contact with him and mouthed ‘Who is it?’ the response was something I should have guessed. He almost grinned, ‘New job’ clearly relieved to have a reason to leave the flat Sherlock visibly relaxed.

“How long ago?” a small pause before “Of course not, why would you know that? When was the emergency number called?!” He half shouted.

“Sherlock!” I scolded.

Then it occurred to me, the girl. She cannot be left, and she can’t exactly some with us dressed like that. I turned to her, as her eyes turned away from Sherlock to meet mine.

“5 minutes. We’ll be there in 5 minutes. Keep the press away.” He said.

“Half an hour!” I called hurriedly. “We need half an hour,” I nodded in the direction of the girl and thank fully Sherlock understood. Reluctantly he said:

“Half an hour…No Press!” He hung up the phone. “You’re coming with us.” He told the girl. She cocked her head as she had done earlier and kneaded her eyebrows together. “I need John for this one.” Then he turned to me. “I told you we only needed 5 minutes.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

“Sherlock, she has no clothes, we can’t take her out in that.”

Sherlock scowled at the girl as he deliberated, the girl showed no signs of fear or giving up her ground as Sherlock continued to glare at her.

“Give her some of Mary’s old things.” He said collecting his scarf from the back of his chair.

“No.”

At this point both of them turned to me, both confused by my answer.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?” Sherlock asked after a moment’s pause.

“Yes… yes it was. It is easier if you go on your own, I will stay here. Don’t be too long.”

Sherlock nodded. Then pulled on his coat, he rested a hand on my shoulder.

“I… I am… um… Is it the right time to apologise?” He said.

I sighed deeply. Sherlock moved his hand.

“We are ordering take out tonight any preference?” I asked aiming the question at both of my flat mates.

“Not hungry.” Sherlock called as he escaped through the door.

“You have to eat!” I yelled back angrily. “And I suppose you have no preference either?” The girl just stared at me. “Of course you don’t. Sorry I asked. Just like the great Sherlock Holmes…” As I set about tidying up the living area and kitchen mumbling to myself about how arrogant and rude Sherlock is and how I was certain it was all just an act, no one can actually not know that the earth orbits the sun. I looked up to see the child was staring at me, a subtle smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Time to deal with the second of the Holmes brothers!” I picked up my phone.

Did she have any clothes? J

The smile had disappeared when I turned back.

Yes.

Mycroft.

What does that mean?

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