A Case of Identity [Sherlock S4 Fanfic]

Part 1 - The Cereal Killer

Two years later, Harriet Willa Watson, as she was named, was growing up. Her drawings littered the fridge door, and occasionally the walls. Her teddy was long replaced by looking after the two dogs, and her crawling less frequent as walking took its place. Her originally blonde hair darkening as she put on height.

Harriet was a happy, healthy child, adored by both her parents, as well as by her honorary third parent, Sherlock Holmes. He would often visit, reading her science books about the solar system, and about simple maths problems. By the age of two, she could walk and understand the world, even pointing at the answer to questions, but she could not, or just did not, speak.

There was no doubt that she was bright, but yet she had not started to talk. No "Cat", or "Daddy", or "Mummy", but instead pointing to this thing and that thing. This had caused Sherlock to often sit down with her, trying to help her to speak.

It was on one of these mornings that Sherlock was sitting on the floor of the playroom, with various cards in his hands of objects. He held up the first card. "Now, this is a cat. Say cat. C A T. Cat. Cat."

The word was said in a variety of ways, but Harriet just stared at Sherlock, as if she was accusing him of making it boring.

"Harry, can you say cat? Cat." Sherlock pleaded with the child, his patience thinning.

"Um, Sherlock. Did you just call my girl Harry? That is not her name! If I had wanted to name her after Harry Potter, or Harry from the royal family, then I would have done so!" John sounded agitated as he made jam sandwiches for Harriet. "I named her after me. You hear that, Sherlock?" He poked his head out of the kitchen, kicking one of the dogs gently away, to where Harriet was sitting on Sherlock's lap, pointing at various items around the room, asking for him to say what they all were. "Harriet. After Hamish. Okay? Not Harry."

"Shh, don't listen to Daddy, Harry," Sherlock whispered into her ear.

"Just call her Harriet! For goodness sake! Or Willa, after yourself if you are so stubborn to not associate my daughter with me! She is my daughter! You can call her what I named her, as she is my daughter. Not yours to name, not yours at all actually." And John walked into the playroom, sandwiches oozing red and cut nicely into rectangular fingers. In his other hand, he carried two more jam sandwiches for himself and Sherlock. Mary had gone out for the day, leaving the boys in charge of the child and both dogs.

"Why aren't mine cut up?" Sherlock asked, looking down at his square of jam covered bread. "What if I wanted fingers, just like Harry?" Sherlock looked back up at his friend, seemingly upset that he wasn't getting the same as the small human.

"It's Harriet! And you are a grown man. You can go get a knife from the kitchen yourself." John sighed, biting into his sandwich. He put down the bread to pick up his daughter. "You've grown, darling!"

"In brain capacity as well as physical growth of the limbs," Sherlock called back, re-entering the room, knife in hand. "This, Willa-" he shot a pointed look at his friend - "is a knife. Can you say knife? Knife. N-I-Ff. Can you say knife?"

Harriet looked up at Sherlock adoringly, a smile playing on her small face. She pointed at the knife in his hands and giggled slightly.

"Sherlock! First you show my child a knife, then you start giving demands like Dora the Explorer! Just leave my child alone!" John smiled at his friend, inwardly glad to see his child grow up with a mostly positive influence.

Sherlock's phone rang, breaking the silence held by three people enjoying their lunch. Picking it up, Sherlock excused himself from the room.