The consulting detective had many positive attributes alongside his endless list of irritating habits. However, patience did not fall into the category. This was a thing that had been severely tested during the nine months planning for fatherhood.
It had been an…. interesting experience to say the least.
For the first time in his entire life, William Sherlock Scott Holmes was terrified. All the physical signs of petrification were non-existent, vanished by the barrier between his emotions and the rest of the world.
Inside though...deep down inside, Sherlock knew that something was definitely wrong. Pacing the halls of the hospital, he recalled the precious reconciliations between him and his significant other.
Katherine was a goddess in Sherlock’s blatant opinion. Long locks of charcoal-black hair and ivory skin with poignant features that were delicately constructed. He always looked at her with a mixture of devotion and awe as she entered the room and studied her as one might a masterpiece.
In the previous few months, the sociopath had been teaching his wife the art of deduction…. A trait he prayed his child would possess. Male or female, this child would be a miracle…. A gift from the Lord himself.
Names were not something Katherine and the Detective really discussed. It was decided that if the baby were to be female, it would be named by the mother, and if male, it would be named by the father… end of the topic.
Sherlock was certain that the baby would be male. He pondered over the name Sirius or Regulus to continue the obscure names in the Holmes family but eventually decided on William Sherlock Jonathan Holmes Jr.
Katherine had remained silent on her choice of name.
It was December 12…. A bitterly cold day, even for England’s uncontrollably freezing climate.
Silence loomed as Sherlock Holmes sat with his wife, Katherine Holmes, in The Princess Grace Hospital. The female Holmes was pregnant with their first child, but there was a problem. She was two weeks overdue, which concerned the doctors.
After many hours of debate, things were finally settled for a more qualified and experienced practitioner to examine the pregnant woman.
After the doctor came in, the couple and the doctor decided they were going to have to perform a C-section.
Staring at the surgeon, Sherlock quickly made an assumption of the doctor’s life. He’d eaten cereal for breakfast today instead of his usual toast since a hint of milk replaced the toast crumbs on his tie. The man was clearly an experienced doctor due to the premature lines of age upon his forehead signifying the 60 years or more of his life.
The detective nodded his approval.
Sherlock waited outside for hours, longing for someone to talk to, or better yet, news of his loved one and unborn child. John, the detective’s lifelong best friend, was visiting his sister, while Mrs. Hudson, his landlady, was currently on holiday in the Americas.
His older brother Mycroft was busy with “national importance” as was usual, and Lestrade was working on a case.
So Sherlock waited alone some more.
Both of the high-functioning sociopath’s parents weren’t even aware that their son had a wife, never mind the pregnancy she was currently possessing. Katherine’s parents had passed away many years prior.
After 3 hours, the doctor came back into the room that Sherlock was in.
“Congratulations!” the surgeon exclaimed. “It’s a girl.”
Sherlock quickly jumped up in ecstasy, though with slight despair that his deduction had been incorrect. He always observed one thing or the other incorrectly.
“That’s amazing…. Good God, I’m a father…. Where’s my wife, sir?”
The doctor’s face grew grim as he continued. “I’m sorry, but your wife didn’t survive.”
Sherlock felt like someone had hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer. His wife was dead, his soulmate, the only person that had ever understood him besides John… was dead. He had nothing else to live for except John, his cases, and his… child.
“May I see my daughter?” Inquired the father, tears threatening to fall out of his eyes.
“Your daughter is in a crib right now, sleeping.”
The doctor led Sherlock to where his newborn daughter was resting. A silent and rebellious tear slipped down the detective’s cheek as he looked at his child.
The doctor asked in a quiet, almost dead whisper to signify his mourning and remorse for the newly instated dad. “What would you like to name her?”
Visibly panicked, Sherlock was in a state of confusion for once. This was supposed to be his wife’s honor, not his. Well, his desire for the child to be a scholar and intelligent was overwhelming, so he simply chose a name meaning scholar…. Skylar. This would also mean that she would share her father’s entitles (SH) which he rather liked. As a middle name, he finally decided on Abigail, meaning “father’s joy”.
Skylar Abigail Holmes… it had a nice ring to it.
Raising a daughter as a single father would be difficult, but with his intelligence and John Watson’s kindness, what could go wrong?
Hello everyone! Artemis here! I hope you guys enjoyed the prologue! If people like this, then Chapter 1 will be out soon. Have a great day/night! - Artemis