Beautifully Stormy Skies (Johnlock mpreg)

Chapter 15

Sherlock stared at the girl in amazement. Seeing the scary resemblance between himself and her. Along with the untamable orange curls that was Vincent's. Vincent always had trouble keeping them under control. Especially on the rare occasion of brushing it. Sherlock smiled. Reminded of his first-ever boyfriend. But the gut-wrenching pain of heartbreak he felt when Vincent left also.

"Y-you're my daughter? P-Peyton?" Sherlock stammered, chuckling then looking to his folded hands in his lap.

"I can't believe they kept your name." Sherlock remarked. Peyton cleared her throat. Keeping a tighter grip on her shoulder strap of her bag as she got the attention of the detective again.

"Oh, uhh, sorry. Please, have a seat. We have much to talk about." Sherlock arose and offered her a seat. Pulling the one out across from him and pushing the chair back in once she sat down. Peyton removed her bag and set it on the back, folding her hands together on the tabletop. Sherlock always did the same. Folding his hands together whether it was on the table or in his lap; he always folded his hands. A nervous tick he supposed. Something that passed on to his daughter.

The pair sat in silence. Sherlock trying to read his daughter that seemed to be unreadable. Peyton staring at the thin strings of steam that arose from her coffee cup.

"You seemed unamused with our meeting." Sherlock pointed out. Peyton looked up, tucking another thick strand of curls behind her ear that fell into her view.

"No, no, I am excited to meet you. Enthralled actually. I mean, my father is the great Sherlock Holmes!" She smiled, her eyes sparkling with admiration of the detective as Sherlock smiled. He hardly saw this kind of admiration from his own husband.

"Oh, you're being too modest." Sherlock smirked, fingers tapping along the tabletop as a way of distraction. Though he didn't know why he was feeling like he needed one. He was enjoying the attention he was receiving. Let alone the attention coming from his daughter. He was enjoying the time he had with his daughter.

"So, what is your story? Who are your parents? Schooling? Tell me about you, Peyton Griffin." Sherlock set himself back in his chair, crossing his hands and setting them in his lap.

"Well, for one thing, that's not my name. It's Peyton Smith." Peyton corrected.

"Why did you lie about your name the first time?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I wanted to impress you. You have a reputation and I wanted to make a good first impression."

"Impress me? By lying about your last name?" The detective smirked. "It's going to take more than lying about your last name to impress me. Besides, you're my daughter. You've already impressed me by being you."

Peyton smiled. Sherlock saw the familiar curl of her lips. It was Vincent's.

"So, about the rest of your life. That's where we left off." Sherlock settled back into his chair a little more.

"Well, currently I am about to graduate from uni. I am studying to become a crime-scene investigator with undergrad in psychology and sociology. I love learning about the human mind and how it drives people to do such criminal things." Peyton explained her ideas for her future. Eyes sparkling once again with excitement.

"And your family?" Sherlock asked.

"I have one older brother and though being stubborn, he's protective but in a loving way. My mother is a similar story. Protective, loving, understanding, in all the right ways." Peyton kept her smile.

"And your father? Er, adopted father?" Sherlock corrected. Peyton's smile disappeared.

"He passed away when I was fourteen. Pancreatic cancer." She gave a breathy laugh.

"He always pushed me to do things I always doubted myself of. He helped me grow as a person and to the adult that I am today."

Sherlock smiled, looking to the table in thought. Thoughts of his life so far flashed through his head. Everything from Vincent to Peyton when she was born. Now John and Joan and how everything had fallen into place at the right time.

He was grateful for everything he had. And anything he had in his past. Peyton was the result of those times in his life. As was Joan. But he wouldn't trade it for anything.

"But enough about me, I want to know how you've been. Who is Sherlock Holmes?" She asked, pushing her coffee away and lacing her fingers together to place her head on them as a rest.

The detective smirked, sliding his coffee back to take a sip and start in on his story.

And what a long story it was.