Part 2 - Who's Child?

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As Harriet grew, she started to lose her blond pigtails, as they started to become replaced by darker plaits running down each side of her head. She looked like a brunette Mary, but there wasn't much family resemblance in her face at all. It was as if she was adopted, but as Mary could clearly confirm, she had given birth to her daughter.

Either way, the lack of resemblance seemed unsettling to John. He confided his fears to Sherlock one day as they had left the child behind with Mary to visit another crime scene.

"I just don't think that she is my child, Sherlock." John's face started to wrinkle in worry. "How do I know that she is?"

"DNA fingerprinting," was all that his friend replied with, too busy looking around at the bustling streets of London to concentrate too hard on his friend's woes.

"But, has Mary been lying to me this entire time?" John stopped walking, causing Sherlock to not notice his lack of friend until a few paces later. "I thought that everything was behind us, with all the lying and what not."

"Do you still love her, John?" Sherlock asked, clearly impatient to continue towards the police tape.

"Who? My wife or Harriet?"

"Both. Either. I don't mind. Just please hurry up as there has been a murder. A murder John, and I would like to visit it." He stared longingly at the yellow tape, mind racing at the possible causes of death.

"Of course I love Harriet. She is my daughter. My child. And I said that I still loved Mary back before you went into exile."

"Great. That's all sorted then," Sherlock said briskly, starting to walk again, John jogging to keep up.

"But, what if she is lying to me? My own wife!"

"Look John. You love the child. So does it matter who the father is? It's your child. It's you who's looking after it." Sherlock grimaced at Anderson who was standing by the door.

"But Sherlock, if I am only the father because I look after her, and not because she contains my DNA, then that would also make you her father. You probably look after her more than me." John smiled at Lestrade as he met them on the stairs.

"You love the child John, and that is all that matters." Sherlock walked into the room, coat flying behind him.

"Family problems?" offered Lestrade.

"I'm fine," John said, but the doubt was planted firm in his mind.


The possibility of John not being the father troubled Sherlock. He couldn't quite concentrate on the murder as much as he usually would, having lost some of his enthusiasm for the death of another victim. On the way home, he hailed a cab and jumped in. John tried to follow.

"No John, I need to go somewhere else for a case. You go back to Harriet. Besides," he looked down at his watch, "it's time for her daily times tables practice. Just tell her the sum and she will point at the answer." And he closed the door, leaving John looking stunned on the pavement. "Bart's hospital," he said to the driver, before sitting back and thinking about who the possible father could be.


Molly met him in the corridor as he walked towards the lab.

"Oh, hello Sherlock. I was just going to grab a drink or something, but I can stay if you need me for anything." She smiled at him, but he seemed deep in thought. "On other thoughts, you probably don't need my help. I'll go grab my coffee."

"No, stay. I need you," Sherlock said, his voice echoing off the white walls. Molly turned back to look at him. "I need you to do some DNA tests for me. I need to know who the child's father is." And he produced a child's bottle encased in a plastic bag. "This should have the necessary genetic information on it that you need. I also have three DNA samples from three possible parents. Can you run the tests for me?" He pleaded with Molly, his eyes staring into her own.

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