𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐱 | 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬

Prolouge - the Child in a Box

One night, on 7 September, 2003, a box, sealed with masking tape and the 'this side up' label pointing to the ground, appeared at the doorstep of a small Victorian house on the outskirts of a small Welsh town. 

Two drunken souls answered the knock at the door. One, a man who was very successful in his unique line of work, and two, just a client of his, a woman, who had popped open a bottle of champagne an hour ago. The house belonged to the latter. 

At the time the box appeared, neither of the souls paid it any heed, them being wasted and sitting on the couch, babbling off intellectual but nonsensical phrases until late at night.

So, on the doorstep the box waited until morning, when Jane, the woman, was too hungover to make a proper cup of tea, while William -who was usually called Sherlock but was nicknamed William the night before- only stuck around out of curiosity of the box's contents, while his hangover wasn't affecting his performance one bit.

Jane finally brought the box inside at about 11:45am and found a knife to cut it open. It's content's both horrified and amazed Jane, while Sherlock was, simply, bored.

It was a child. A baby stared up at them from the box, sitting atop a blanket. While cutting open the box, Jane must have accidentally cut her -yes, the baby's- finger, because she had a deep cut on her ring finger.

But, miraculously, the baby wasn't crying. She was just staring up at them intently, with curiosity filled eyes.

Sherlock reassured Jane that, in fact, she had not cut the baby, that the baby's abusive, possibly alcoholic mother did, and who, as well, possibly also formed all of the bruises and scrapes on the baby's skin. 

The child in the box had piercing green eyes and thick, auburn locks. Her entire face, all her features, were soft, and she looked about two years old. Her clothes were standard, if not a little less. She had on a striped shirt and ripped blue jeans, and she carelessly had nothing warm to wear on that frigid morning.

Suddenly, she crawled out of the box and was in Sherlock's arms, playing with his curls. Sherlock immeadiately picked her off of him and set her back in the box, where Jane picked her up again.

In Jane's hands, the baby grabbed a fistful of Jane's blonde hair and examined it as if it was gold, because of it's colour. Jane grinned at her and looked over at Sherlock.

"I'm keeping her." Jane stated, pulling the baby closer to her. The baby pulled a face when Jane brought her closer.

Sherlock scoffed, "You really are hungover; you aren't thinking straight."

"No, William, I'm keeping her." Jane said defiantly.

"You can stop calling me that now." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Jane paused for a moment. "Say, how about we both  parent her?" Jane grinned that smile that makes you uncertain of what she's thinking.

"Hell, no." Sherlock stood. "You have completely lost your mind."

"Fine, then." Jane said, looking down at the baby. "I'll take care of her myself. I'll call her... June. June Carrigan."

There was silence. Sherlock looked at the baby, and he saw so much. So much she could be, all the things she could learn.

Then he looked at Jane. Jane would shatter the baby's potential, just like she did all of her glass plates last night. Sherlock gritted his teeth and growled in the back of his throat.

"No." Sherlock said. Jane looked over at him, eyebrows raised as if to say, you dare to defy me? "No. Not June." He thought for a moment. "Octavia Augusta Holmes."

"You're going to parent with me, then?" her face lit up.

Sherlock made a face of disgust. "Of course not. We will both parent her, as divorced parents would."

Jane's face stilled at a bored expression, knowing full well Sherlock didn't especially like her. "Alright, then. But where's my say in the name?"

Sherlock tensed his jaw. Annoying. "Fine. What's your say?"

"Octavia Augusta Silas Holmes-Carrigan." Jane says, Carrigan being her last name. Silas was a boy's name, but Jane had loved it since she was young.

"Alright." Sherlock breathed, never going to admit that he rather did like that name.

And so Silas Holmes came to be. The Second Sociopath, the Gun, call her whatever you like. But in Sherlock's opinion, she was special. The most special girl in the world.

~~~~~~~~

Hello, all!

Sorry to scare you with long-ish paragraphs on the first chappie of this book, I had a lot to swoo you about.

Anyway, if you're reading this, it means I love you. Very much. Thank you so much for picking up this book!

I hope you find this book interesting and want to keep reading, even though the ending isn't especially interesting. I promise it will get better. :)

Vote? Comment? Every time someone comments, it always makes my day. :) Maybe recommend?

Well, 'til next time,

~Sofia