BBC: Sherlock x Reader

The Stalk - Sherlock Holmes |Part Two|

What's this?! An update?? Yes indeed it is! Hi guys! Happy New year! I hope you all have been having a great start to the new decade so far, mine have been going wonderfully! So sorry about the time it took to get this up, it would've been up weeks ago if my laptop hadn't given out and I had to rework the whole thing. I was gonna make it extra long because of the waiting period but I got stuck after a while and decided to just post the half I had written, so anyways, enjoy and please review!

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"It won't stop crying." Sherlock groaned and ran a hand over his face tiredly. He watches the child who sat in his arm chair, dwarfed by it's size, red in the face and screaming like a war siren.

It was loud.

Sherlock was tired, he can't remember the last time he had a decent night's sleep. This had been going on for the past week, no matter what Sherlock did, it just cried. He was exhausted and beyond fed up.

"Oh, stop that." He snapped, the child payed no mind to him and continued it's tirade, "Stop it."

Sherlock stomped his way to his arm chair and picked up the wailing baby, the sound was grating on his ears. It flayed his tiny arms and kicked it's feet, how was he supposed to do anything if he had no idea how? He held the child at arm's length and swayed his arms slightly, trying to sooth it. "Stop crying."

The baby's cries died down gradually to sniffles and whimpers, it's bottom lip trembling still and it's eyes flooded with tears ready to spill over. It stared at him, and Sherlock stared too, amazed by the colour of it's eyes. Hers. She already looked so much like him, with a tuff of wild dark curls on her head, but her eyes aren't his.

Sherlock can feel tears stinging his own eyes and he drew his arms closer to his chest, allowing his daughter to rest her head on his shoulder. He awkwardly, but gently rubbed circles into her back, and sighed.

He glanced at the white envelope that was delivered with her, it sat on the mantle, open but neatly tucked away. The contents of it left an empty feeling in his chest, if he had only listened, given her a chance to speak like she had asked. If he wasn't so selfish.

She was sick, very sick. She was secretive about it, all those late night phone calls, all those times she went away for days on end and never told him where. He should've seen it, of course, but he was so blinded by his assumptions. She could've come to him, she should've told him something. To make matters worse, she was pregnant with his child and he did not know.

You're all she has now, look after her.

"Hey now." Sherlock chuckles, wincing when the baby's hand found its way into his hair and tugged. Her tiny body jerked with a giggle and Sherlock couldn't help the smile on his face, or the feeling that blossomed in his chest.

Her grip loosened after awhile as her breathing evened out, and Sherlock sighed again, swaying lightly on his feet, "I'm sorry you have to grow without her."

                     •°•°•<>•°•°•

"Well, this is unexpected...."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Mycroft stared at his brother, watching the dark circles that had gathered under his eyes - eyes he could barely keep open. Saying he looked tired would be an understatement he looked exhausted and completely out of it.

Mycroft took a moment to study his brother, noticing that even as he stared at his daughter with adoration in his eyes there was an emptiness to them. A darkness that swirled in the pools of his irises that he could not hide from even those who didn't have the eyes to see.

The baby was laying on Sherlock's pillow, she slept soundly, a thumb in her mouth and she cooed gently as she shifted.

Of course, Mycroft had read the letter, and to think now that Sherlock was a father - a thought that took quite some time to process even after two weeks of knowing. He still had a funny feeling when he thought about it, he was an uncle. He couldn't imagine how hard it had been for Sherlock, to be tossed into this point of his life so quick and unexpectedly, it was taking it's toll.

"You need to rest, Sherlock."

Sherlock blinked slowly, as though it took him a moment to comprehend what his brother was saying. He nodded after a while, and didn't protest before he crawled up the length of his bed and laid next to his daughter. He curled himself around the baby protectively and it didn't take long before he was out.

Mycroft sighed, turning on his heel to walk out of Sherlock's bedroom and he closed the door as quietly as he could behind himself. He walked slowly through the kitchen and stood in the doorway, watching around at the living area of the flat.

It held all the tell tale signs of a little person being there; a half empty bottle of milk on the mantle, a fluffy yellow blanket thrown haphazardly on the arm of Sherlock's chair, an unopened box of diapers on the coffee table.

Mycroft observed with furrowed brows, lost in his own thoughts. He had Anthea get some things for the baby - his niece. There was no way he could stay uninvolved, despite Sherlock bring completely unprepared for such circumstances, Mycroft was not going to let him stand alone. He knew well the value of family.

He had tracked down the doctor that brought the baby here, it didn't take her much, as it seems she was just glad she could talk to someone that was not Sherlock himself. She didn't say much about Y/n's condition, only that it took her life a mere week after the birth and her dying wish was that the child be sent to her father.

Mycroft had met the woman only a few times on his visits to 221B, he was quite fond of her, but of course hers and Sherlock's relationship came to it's inevitable end.

He worried how Sherlock had been handling all of this, not all too well from where he can see. He hadn't known about anything until it was too late - he missed her funeral, he missed his chance to apologise, he missed the birth of his daughter. Despite all of that, he will be alright in time.