This book may have Imagine, Preferences, and one shot.
Don't trust the tittle!
WARNING
SOME chapter might have : ANGST, SMUTT, FLUFF , DEATH, BLOOD, DEPRESSED, SELF HARM, FIGHTING. AND MORE!
Also, the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for Sherloc...
This prompt is super sad, and I used to be so good at angst but I’m not sure if this’ll justify my previous talents. I hope you all enjoy! Anything in Italics is the mother (which is also you) and in the flashback with the child birth, Mary and John are not married yet.
Sherlock x Daughter reader
Being Sherlock Holmes daughter is one of the most tragic parts of your story. You never knew what happened to your mother but be it as it were, Mary and John Watson have adopted you as their own daughter. But every night you woke up having the same dream… A dream that includes the man who left you behind.
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“Sherlock, take a look at me and use your deduction skills. What do you see?”
Sherlock looked up from his laptop to his wife standing in the kitchen, wearing one of his dress shirts and low hanging sweat pants. Her face was clear of makeup and her fingers were wrapped around the rim of her favorite tea cup. “I see that you’re breath taking.” He said lowly, wrapping his fingers around your hips. “And you’re not drinking your normal coffee. Your clothes are baggy and low hanging-”
A soft smile spread across your face as you set your cup down on the table in the center of the room, cupping his cheek in your small hands. Hands that had memorized his body through the darkest hours of the night, hands that had held him as he cried over the uncertainty of his their future. “You’re getting warmer, Detective.” You whispered. “Lower your hands.”
His hands fell to your stomach, and in that moment, it seemed to click all at once. “You-Are you pregnant?” Sherlock murmured in disbelief, his smile widening as you nodded eagerly. “We’re going to be parents.”
“You’re going to be a father, Sherlock Holmes!”
You woke up in a cold sweat, your y/h/c plastered to your cheeks as you slowly began to control your frantic breathing. The air in your room was chilled from the open window, the only source of light coming from the hallway where Mary normally left the light on at night. “Y/n, sweetheart? Are you alright?”
Mary Watson stepped into your bedroom dressed in her nightgown, tying her red robe around her body. You lifted your head from in between your knees and tilted your head, studying her up and down. It was quite obvious you weren’t her biological child, but she and John had passed you off to be their own and it was exactly what you needed.
“I keep having this dream about the same man and woman. I’m not sure why..” You rested your hand over your heart and sighed deeply. “It’s like they’re engraved into my heart, and they simply won’t leave.”
Sherlock redistributed his weight between his knees as John watched him pace the length of the waiting room. He’d caused enough ruckus in the delivery room that they had kicked him out just as you had begun to push. “I’m sure she’s alright, Sherlock. It’s normal for women to scream during birth. Take it from a doctor who knows.”
