Young Anya Holmes

Chapter 3

Two years passed since the night Sherlock found his baby Anya on the door mat. Sherlock soon found that a two year old was a lot harder to look after than a newborn. "Anya! Don't play with those chemicals!" Mary, John, and Mrs. Hudson had done Sherlock the favor of cleaning the house while he was out with Anya but he soon made it just like before only worse since Anya was there to help. She had busied herself playing with a vat of chemicals Sherlock was using in an experiment. He quickly picked her up and set her back on the ground along with his magnifying glass, her new favorite toy. "When will you ever learn?" He said smiling at her as she nawed at the edges of the magnifying glass. He looked at Anya, remembering the date. "December 8, 2004." He laughed, not believing what he had just said. He picked her up and took the magnifying glass out of her mouth, wiping off the excess spit from the glass. "Happy third birthday, princess."

Then his head snaps up. "Birthday?!" Panic rises through Sherlock. Sherlock had never thought to plan anything for his baby girl's third birthday. He looks down at his drooling little princess. "Where do you want to go?" He asked her quizzically even though she probably couldn't understand anything he had said. Right as he was about to give up Anya started to crawl across the room towards the large stack of newspapers in the corner of the sitting room. She tried to stand up to reach the top of the stack but fell backwards onto her bum. She tried once more but this time as she fell, she took down the whole stack with her. She rummaged through everything until she found the paper from that day. She pulled it out and hectically flipped through the pages. Sherlock watched half dumbstruck and half in awe. She then crawled over, with the paper in her mouth, to Sherlock. "Murder!" She said happily. (That was her first word.) He yanked the newspaper out of her mouth to find it was the obituary page. One collumn was slobbered on. "A murder has been committed at 22 North Wayward Street. Police have begun investigating. Victim, Natalie Welsch." He read. He looked at his baby girl in shock. "Nothing wrong with starting early, I suppose." He said, picking her up. Then a thought crossed his mind. "Lestrade, Donavan, and Anderson don't know you exist." He looked once more at Anya, who now had a confused look on her face. "Well, they're about to find out." Sherlock remarked with a chuckle.

He took her in his arms, got her stroller which John and Mary conveniently provided, and went out the flat door and down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson met him on the stairs. "Where are you going, dear?" She asked Sherlock, stooping down to pinch Anya's cheeks. "Just taking Anya out for her birthday." He replied calmly. "Is that today?" She looked up just, as surprised as Sherlock had been. "Yes." Sherlock laughed. "Well, we'll be going now." He said opening the door. He stepped outside the front door and called for a cab. "22 North Wayward Street." Sherlock told the driver, cradling his 3 year old. The cab pulled up at a large, dark house which cast a shadow across the street. Anya smiled and giggled at the sight. Sherlock was always amazed by his new three year old. Sherlock got out of the cab and paid the cabbie. He held Anya close to his chest and walked up the steps. He walked in the front door to find Lestrade and a few other detective inspectors in the center of the room. He walked up to them and said, "Hello, gentlemen." They all turned around and the first thing they saw was Anya. They're eyes got wide. "Sherlock?" Lestrade said, shocked more than any of the rest of the men. "I'm here on account of a murder." Sherlock said with his chin up and his hands around Anya. "I figured that but who is this joining you?" Lestrade peered curiously at Anya. Sherlock pulled her away from his gaze. "This is Anya. My daughter." Lestrade looked even more surprised after hearing this. "Who's the mother?" He asked. "Elizabeth Williams, if you must know." Sherlock replied stubbornly. "Oh. I'm so sorry." Lestrade looked down at his feet. "What do you mean?" Sherlock was thoroughly confused. "You didn't know?" "Know what?" Sherlock was dying to know what he was talking about. "Her death." Lestrade said warily. Sherlock heard these words and went stone cold. Dead? How could she be dead? This can't be happening. Not to me. Not to Anya. "How?" Sherlock said after minutes of precise thinking. "Murder. We're still investigating." Murder?! Sherlock's heart throbbed in his chest. "The funeral should be happening presently." Lestrade told Sherlock. "If it helps." Sherlock looked at Lestrade then at Anya. "Can I trust you?" Lestrade nodded. "Good." Sherlock said and in the blink of an eye Sherlock had handed Anya over to Lestrade. Sherlock hailed a cab. "Everything you'll need to take care of her is at my flat. If she gets to be too much for you take her to John and Mary." Lestrade looked confusedly at Sherlock. "Where are yo going?" Sherlock leaned out the window of the cab. "A funeral."