Sherrinford held the small bundle in his arms, his child, such a small, delicate thing.
His daughter looked up at him, with those bright blue eyes. It was the first time he had seen her open them, after she had been born. It had been two days since her mother had died, murdered by a man he had once called his 'employer'.
He kissed the top of her head. "I am sorry, Iremia, but I cannot be your father." he said softly. The name he had given her meant "serenity" in a foreign language.
There was a woman standing before him, she owned the Child's Foster House, she looked kind, but Sherrinford did not want to hand her the small girl in his arms. His own flesh and blood.
"She will be well looked after, Mr. Holmes." she said. Sherrinford held the child closer. "Mr. Holmes?"
"Give me a moment." he snapped.
"Of course." Mrs. Brown said and stood respectfully out of earshot.
Sherrinford sat down on the small, stone wall, looking at his child. "I can't look after you, Iremia."
His daughter gurgled and held her hands up. He smiled, and then realised his eyes were moist. "Hush now, it's okay." he whispered. "We could have done things, hey? I could have taken you with me, we could travel, and..." No, I cannot. She deserves better than me.
"Goodbye, Iremia." he said, holding back the tears, and handed her to the woman. He turned away, trying to block out the noise of the baby crying. Every cry made his heart break.
He bit his lip, and went on, never looking back.
He walked down the street, barely feeling the rain pouring down his neck. Even the noise of the cars blurred. I have lost everyone. Sherrinford sank down against a wall. His body began to shake, and bending his head, he cried.