Young Anya Holmes

Chapter 1

The street lights flicker gently. It is December 8, 1998 in London, England. snow falls to the ground and forms a sheet-like layer on the sidewalk. A young woman about the age of 20 carries a sleeping bundle close to her breast. She walks swiftly against the snow, which makes her shiver and pull the bundle closer to her. She looks through the bright white snow at a door and approaches it quickly, fighting against the freezing conditions. The door was black with a shiny golden knocker slightly adjusted to one side. In big, bold, golden letters it read 221B.

The woman looks around for a warm place to set the sleeping child but to no avail. With no other option in sight she slowly opened the door. She poked her head in to make sure no one was near by. After she saw that no one was around she slipped inside just long enough to put the baby on the mat along with a letter written to Sherlock Holmes. She gave the sweet sleeping child a kiss on the forehead and with one last longing look at the bundle slipped back out the door. Before leaving she gave the knocker a sharp slam. She listened through the door just long enough to hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Then she left. 17 years she would be away from her child.

The owner of the footsteps came down the stairs and as he made it to the bottom of the steps he layed his eyes on the bundle. He stopped in his tracks and let out a sigh. He walked over, his long footsteps echoing through the empty, quiet halls. Sherlock Holmes picked up the baby and as he did so the child, a girl, began to cry. He cradled that baby girl, swaying back and forth, humming a tune he had just recently written for his violin until she fell back asleep. It was in that moment that Sherlock knew she wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. He stood watching her chest move slowly up and down. She had rosy red cheeks and soft pink lips. A moment before when she' d been crying he observed that she had blue eyes similar to the color of a Robin's egg. He then opened the door and looked every which way for the owner but no one was in sight. Plus it was quite hard to see as the snow was now blowing quite vigorously.

He closed the door and was about to walk back upstairs when something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a letter addressed to himself. It was written in pen, scrawled out in a fancy cursive font. He picked it up and walked upstairs with both the baby and the letter. When he got to his flat he went in and sat down in his chair. He began to open the letter, the baby still asleep in his arms. He began to read, his eyes getting wider after each word he read. It said:

Dear Sherlock,

I know it's not an ideal time with all the things on your plate but please. Please take her. I'm afraid somebody's after me. I don't know their name or why they're doing any of this but I know it's not safe for her where I am. Watch after her and when she turns 17, I will come back for her. I will give her a choice. You or me. It's her decision so don't think I am influencing her in any way. By the way, if by this point you are curious, she is yours. Remember Russia? I'm sure you can piece the rest of the puzzle together. Her name is Anya. Please Sherlock. Help me out. You're the only other person she has. I know you'll come through. Solve me a mystery, Sherlock Holmes.

Sincerely,

Elizabeth Williams

Sherlock sat in the darkness, completely dumbstruck. He looked once more at the sleeping child. "Anya," He said. "I like that. I like that alot." He looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. "2:30," He said surprised. "It's time for me to get some sleep, too. Good night... Anya." And with that Sherlock fell asleep with Anya, not knowing what would happen tomorrow or the next day. Only knowing the joyous feeling creeping through every inch of his body for the first time in a long time. "Anya." He said one last time before falling into a dream filled sleep.