Prologue.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"But—"

"We'll get through this."

"Seems we'll have to, since I'm not about to jump into our only other options and you don't want to."

He ran his shaking hands through his messy curls before settling heavily on the sofa next to her, noticing her hands were also shaking. What a mess they'd gotten themselves into.

"You know," she started, looking at him with her hazy green eyes and placing a hand on his knee, "for someone who has been blessed with gifts of exceptional deduction and reasoning, I would have thought you'd noticed it earlier."

He deliberated over this, realizing only now all of the signs he'd missed. "Even my mind can be clouded when presented with distractions." She retracted her hand slightly. "Not that that's all you are, of course."

"Of course," she retorted, "I'm only the mother of your child."

He looked at her then down at her abdomen, noticing the slightest curve that revealed their predicament. How could they have been so careless? He rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands.

"Right. Now what?"

She sighed, "Now, we wait."

~Seven months later~

He paced in the waiting room, his palms sweating profusely and his face colourless. A nurse called another father to meet his child, a son, and the other waiting fathers offered their congratulations as he beamed and gathered his things. He watched the proud man go before resuming his pacing. His brother sighed, flipping through the pages of Time Magazine.

"Honestly, you're starting to drive me insane."

"I can't help it," he defended, "She's been in the delivery room for nearly three hours. Something should have happened by now—"

"These things take time. Be patient."

The younger one scoffed. "You say it like it's not a living thing, like it's not a child."

Suddenly there was a rush of a few doctors and nurses as they ran past the waiting room and through the doors separating her from him. He watched as they filed into her room, feeling a wash of fear spread from his head to toes.

"Please, no…" He started for the doors, but his brother held him back.

"Sherlock." There was something in the way he said it, a kinder tone that was never shared between them.

"That's her room."

"Yes."

"And—"

"It could mean anything."

Sherlock looked into his older brother's eyes, feeling for the first time just how young he was, just nearly a man of nineteen. This wasn't supposed to happen, not so soon and not like this. "It can't mean anything good." Mycroft only shook his head.

"No, dear brother, it cannot."

As if on cue, an elderly nurse entered the room and called for him. "Mr. Holmes." They both turned to her, and she motioned for him to come to her. If Mycroft offered a kind word, Sherlock didn't hear it. The world had slowed for him. As he approached, the woman touched his arm kindly. "I'm so sorry, there's been some complications…"

"Complications?" His voice came out hoarsely, and his throat was suddenly very dry. "What do you mean 'complications'?"

"I'm afraid there was some major haemorrhaging, we can't stop the bleeding—"

Tears spiked behind his eyes and he took every ounce of self-control left in him to stop them. "I see. How long?"

"She'll be gone within the hour. Again, I am so sorry, dear."

Dear. Any affection meant by the word came out as a mockery instead. "And the child?"

The older woman's eyes lit up. "Would you like to see her?" Sherlock nodded numbly, letting her take his arm and lead him through the double doors. He threw one last glance at Mycroft, his eyes already brimming with unsuppressed tears. A couple doctors stood outside the room, their faces fallen as they looked up at him. With what were meant to be comforting nods, they dispersed themselves into other rooms. Sherlock stood in the doorway for a few seconds, taking in the room before stepping in, the air tight with grief.

She lay in the bed, tubes and wires protruding from her arms, nose, and throat. The colour had all but left her body, and there were dark circles under her once-beautiful eyes, now closed forever. He wondered if she'd even had a chance to turn her eyes on their daughter before the chaos began. He wondered if she'd even cared to.

The child cried out from the other side of the room as if sensing his thoughts, squirming in her cocoon as she lay in the bassinet. He approached her slowly, then watched her momentarily. Her pink face, scrunched up in a typical cherubic fashion, peeked out beneath the hospital cap that had been placed on her head. Her eyes opened, revealing a light blue identical to his own. She found him, gazing at him for a few seconds before crying out again. An instinct kicked in and he reached out to hold her, remembering everything he had been taught by her mother. He did it carefully, as if touching delicate glass, and he made sure to support her neck as he placed her in the crook of his arm. She settled quietly, her eyes wandering the new world encapsulating her. Sherlock walked to the bed, one arm holding their daughter and his other hand reaching for her mother's. It was cold, but he could faintly sense a heartbeat through her wrist.

He let out the breath he'd been holding in. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could say I regretted everything that has happened, but looking at her…she's already so beautiful. I only wish you could see her." Sorrow clenched his heart for the first time since his childhood dog, Redbeard, had died. "I wish I could fix and restore you to full health, end your pain. You won't see her grow up, and I honestly don't know what I'll do without you. I don't know anything about children, let alone being a parent. That was always your interest." He looked down at their daughter, his daughter, to see she had already found him again and was looking at him as if she had all the wisdom of the world. "But I promise you this: I will do my best. I will always watch over her, and I promise to always be there for her."

The nurse came to the doorway and offered a kind smile in their direction before asking, "Have you thought of a name?"

Sherlock glanced up before taking his hand from hers, letting the infant grasp his finger in her firm grasp. "Yes, I believe so. Thea Anne Holmes."