Father, Not A Detective

Chapter Two: A Case, John

Speechless, dumbfounded, bereft, inarticulate, silent. Christ, this was like John asking him to be his best man all over again. He opened his mouth, yet no words came out. He looked back at the child, as if she would give him the answers. "Come on Sherlock, just one word. Yes or no?"

"Y-you... You want me to... Me? Y-you mean... Me?"

"Brilliant, Sherlock. You really nailed that one, didn't you?"

John almost chuckled. Almost.

"Yes. I need... your help, Sherlock." John pleaded. This was stupid. He shouldn't have asked. He should have just kept quiet, maybe waited for him to offer himself. Yeah right. Like Sherlock Holmes would ever want to help take care of his-

"Yes." Sherlock nodded silently, rubbing at his chin. John looked up, startled by the sudden response.

"Yes, I-I will help you. Yes of course, John. Anything for you. Remember?"

John mustered a smile and rested a friendly hand on Sherlock's shoulder, making it clear that he truly appreciated Sherlock's support. He whispered a, "Thank you." and tightened his grip on Sherlock's shoulder. John inhaled deeply and sighed heavily.

"I have to go...make funeral arrangement...You can meet her. If you want."

Sherlock glanced towards the baby in the little glass box, tubes sticking in and out of the little holes in the sides.

"Have you um..." He gestured toward the baby with a nervous finger. "Thought of any baby names?" Well, he was attempting a conversation. He knew John didn't really want to go make the arrangements for Mary's funeral. Anything Sherlock could do to occupy John's time, he knew he would appreciate.

John smiled and looked over at his child, with a warm, loving glint in his eye.

"Helena. My mother's name." He glanced up at Sherlock hopefully. "I hope you like it..."

Sherlock hummed. "Not my place to say but, yes. Suits her." He offered John a small smile in which he willingly returned. He looked back to the baby girl. Infants were so simple. No procession ability, no emotional capacity. They simply exist. Until they turn into dull, ordinary human beings (unless they get lucky, like himself.) He'd much like to help John raise this child but, he was madly terrified.

"Go. Go, make the arrangements. I'll... Stay. Here, with...Helena. I'll take care of everything."

John thanked him, twice, and he was off cell phone in his hand and tears in his eyes that refused to spill over.

Sherlock glanced around the room. The only light supplied was from the lamp in the corner of the room by the window. He grasped his hands behind his back, feeling the awkward tension between him and the baby already. This wasn't going to be a walk in the park.

"Um." He muttered to no one and grabbed a chair that was placed in front of the box she, or, Helena, was in. There was nobody around to talk to but, talk he did.

"I don't know what I'm doing here..." He glanced outside of the door as a couple of nurses rushed toward the sound of beeping in another room.

"Your father he uh... he wants me to help take care of you." He chuckles to himself and shook his head, glancing down at his hands. "I can barely keep myself alive... How does he expect me to help keep another human alive? I am way to destructive, everything around me...burns." He placed his fingers under his chin. "I mean, look at your father. He's a wreck. I've caused so much trouble. He's been through war. Loss. Which was partly my fault, by the way... But maybe that's just because I really am a psychopath. Just look at me. I'm talking to a baby..." He chuckled half-heartedly, almost expecting a response. "Oh, no. Sherlock. Don't talk about yourself like that, you're a bloody genius."